ojf 


LIBRARY 

UNIVERSITY  OF 
CAUFORN^ 

SAN  DIEGO 


RAMBLES     OVERLAND. 


RAMBLES  OVERLAND. 


A   TRIP   ACROSS   THE    CONTINENT. 


BY 

ALMON    GUNNISON. 


WHAT  THY  SOUL  HOLDS  DEAR,  IMAGINE  IT 

TO  LIK  THAT  WAY  THOC  OO'ST. 

SHAKSPKABI. 


BOSTON: 
UNIVERSALIST  PUBLISHING  HOUSE. 

1884. 


Copyright,  1883, 
BT  UKIVBRSAUST  PUBLISHING  HOUSB. 


Joan  WILSON  AND  Son,  CAMBKIDOB. 


PREFACE. 


And  so  I  penned 

It  </'»/•//.  until  at  last  it  came  to  fa, 
For  length  and  breadth ,  the  bigness  which  you  see. 

BUNYAN. 


CONTENTS. 


CHAPTER  I. 

PAOI 


WESTWARD  Hoi 


CHAPTER  II. 
THE  YELLOWSTONE  PARK 


CHAPTER  III. 
SAUNTERINOB  IN  WONDER-LAND 47 

CHAPTER  IV. 
A  FIFTY-MILE  WALK 65 

CHAPTER  V. 
OVER  THE  ROCKIES  BY  STAGE 85 

CHAPTER  VI. 
ON  THE  PACIFIC  SLOPE  99 


8  CONTENTS. 

CHAPTER  VII. 

PAOB 

THE  CITY  OP  THE  GOLDEN  GATE 109 

CHAPTER  VIII. 
THE  APPROACH  TO  THE  YOSEMITE 127 

CHAPTER  IX. 
THE  YOSEMITE 139 

CHAPTER  X. 
THE  ORANGE-LAND  OF  CALIFORNIA 169 

CHAPTER  XI. 
ACROSS  THE  DESERT 181 

CHAPTER  XII. 
A  MEXICAN  DETOUR 191 

CHAPTER  XIII. 
COLORADO  DATS 211 

CHAPTER  XIV. 
INCIDENTS  OP  TRAVEL 229 


WESTWARD   HO! 


Go  West,  young  man  ! 

HORACE  GREELEY. 


RAMBLES   OVERLAND. 

CHAPTER   I. 

WESTWARD    HO! 

~VTT"HEN  Madame  de  Sdvignd  rapturously  ex- 
*  *  claimed,  "  a  journey  to  make,  and  Paris  at 
the  end  of  it ! "  she  must  have  had  the  same  emotions 
with  which  at  midnight  we  commence  our  trip  across 
the  continent  to  the  Golden  Gate. 

The  Great  Northern  Railway  approaches  comple- 
tion, and  over  the  unfinished  gap  we  shall  make  pas- 
sage of  the  Rockies  in  a  stage.  The  pictures  of 
Moran  have  made  us  impatient  to  see  the  wonders 
of  the  Yellowstone  ;  thence  we  will  go  southward  on 
the  Pacific,  enter  the  Golden  Gate,  and  come  home- 
ward by  the  Southern  desert,  with  sight  of  orange 
groves  and  Mexico  upon  the  way. 

Our  little  party  consists  of  four.  A  Dramatic 
Critic  of  the  city  press,  with  a  clever  knack  at 
sketching  and  a  kind  of  universal  knowledge,  picked 
up  in  his  Bohemian  wanderings  up  and  down  the 


12  RAMBLES  OVEBLAND. 

earth ;  "  the  Keporter,"  not  long  from  college,  sent  out 
with  the  benedictions  of  his  paper,  "  to  write  the  coun- 
try up,"- — a  youth  of  most  susceptible  proclivities, 
and  withal  a  kind  of  pushing  enterprise  that  might 
by  a  less  fastidious  historian  be  accounted  "  cheek" 
A  geological  Professor  and  the  writer  complete  the 
group.  The  Professor  is  a  man  not  over  old  in  years, 
nor  always  so  sedate  in  manner  as  the  world  outside 
our  camping-tent  surmises,  but  skilled  in  lore  of 
rocks  and  flowers,  a  much-travelled  man,  and,  despite 
his  business,  not  yet  petrified  into  a  "  fossil,"  although 
the  irreverent  youngsters  of  the  party  early  christen 
him  "  Old  Silurian."  At  Washington  we  rendezvous. 
We  push  onward  by  the  "  Scenic  Koute,"  as  it  is  ad- 
vertised upon  the  bills ;  riding  upon  the  platform  in 
the  exhilaration  of  our  new-found  freedom,  taking 
note  of  the  fair  landscapes  that  lie  along  the  roadway 
to  the  mountains,  the  canal-boat  moving  slowly  on 
near  the  track,  the  captain  sitting  in  the  sun  astride 
the  tiller,  while  his  wife  beside  the  mule  tugs  on 
ahead. 

At  Harper's  Ferry  the  iron  horse  makes  pause  to 
drink,  and  we  see  the  engine-house  held  in  the  ante- 
bellum days  by  old  John  Brown.  It  has  no  historic 
look,  for  it  is  used  as  the  showman's  bulletin,  and 
bears  upon  its  front  the  portrait  of  the  tattooed  man, 
who  is  numbered  among  the  wonders  of  "  the  greatest 
show  on  earth." 


WESTWARD   HO!  13 

We  have  good  fortune  in  the  time  of  our  passage 
through  the  heart  of  the  Alleghanies,  for  the  sun  is 
four  hours  high  when,  at  the  mountain's  base,  the 
other  engine  is  hitched  on,  and  the  great  lumbering 
train  slowly  begins  the  long  ascent.  We  have  sent 
a  telegram  ahead  to  the  division  superintendent  for 
leave  to  ride  upon  the  engine,  and  so  we  make  the 
passage  in  the  engine's  cab,  half-blinded  with  the 
smoke  and  suffocated  with  the  simmering  oil.  The 
view  from  our  lofty  perch  is  a  royal  one  as  the  train 
moves  up:  great  sweeps  of  valleys,  sunlit  peaks 
above,  villages  in  cosiest  nooks  below,  and  ragged 
cliffs  beside  the  track.  The  great  engines  pull  heavily 
with  panting  breath,  the  engineer  holding  hand  upon 
the  lever,  his  long  beard  tied  together  with  a  cotton 
string ;  so  with  wonder  all  alert  we  come  skyward  to 
the  summit,  and  with  exultant  speed  go  down  into 
the  valley.  Just  when  the  sunset  of  the  second  day 
is  touching  the  waters  of  the  lake  we  reach  Chicago. 
How  wonderful  it  is !  What  powers  of  expansion, 
what  recuperative  force,  what  magic  has  changed  the 
prairie  to  a  city,  what  bustle  in  the  life  of  its 
crowded  streets  !  There  are  young  faces  everywhere 
in  places  of  authority ;  in  bank  and  office,  store  and 
court,  young  men  are  in  charge,  and  the  world  goes 
on  despite  their  youth.  Hotels,  churches,  public 
buildings,  and  business  places  give  evidence  of 
wealth,  and  though  there  is  a  little  touch  of  the 


14  EAMBLES   OVERLAND. 

ostentation  that  suddenly  acquired  wealth  affects,  yet 
there  is  such  tremendous  energy  of  life  in  this  bump- 
tious city  of  the  lake,  that  the  casual  visitor  is  not 
surprised  that  all  the  natives  feel  kinship  with  the 
Apostle  Paul,  in  that,  with  him,  they  are  "  citizens  of 
no  mean  city."  The  traces  of  the  fire  are  nearly 
gone,  aud  so  out  of  ashes  has  beauty  come,  that,  imi- 
tating Rome,  which  gave  honored  place  to  the  image 
of  the  wolf  that  suckled  the  founders  of  the  city,  we 
would  suggest  —  if  it  be  permitted  for  the  greater  city 
to  imitate  the  lesser  one  —  that  Mrs.  O'Leary's  cow 
be  made  Chicago's  tutelary  deity,  held  in  honor  for 
her  works'  sake,  the  worship  finding  precedent  in 
the  honors  paid  in  Bible  times  to  a  certain  golden 
calf. 

On  to  the  Northwest,  crossing  the  Mississippi  into 
the  rival  cities  of  St.  Paul  and  Minneapolis,  we  hasten. 
Fourteen  years  ago  we  came  hither  from  far  below 
upon  one  of  the  palace  steamers  of  the  river.  We 
do  not  find  the  levee  now  where  it  run  itself  aground 
for  anchorage,  nor  is  the  little  ferry  across  the  stream, 
nor  is  the  long  ride  by  Fort  Snelling  and  the  Falls  of 
Minnehaha  as  solitary  as  it  used  to  be. 

The  cities  have  grown  mightily,  with  streets  of 
metropolitan  dimensions,  stores,  houses,  institutions, 
everything  that  great  cities  in  the  older  States  ac- 
quire in  centuries.  Unless  the  outlook  is  deceptive, 
here  is  to  be  the  emporium  of  the  great  Northwest. 


WESTWARD   HO  !  15 

The  cities  will  grow  together  and  become  the  dis- 
tributing centre  for  this  vast  empire  lying  between 
the  lake  and  the  seas. 

In  the  printer's  fonts  from  which  this  book  is 
made  there  are  few  figures  among  the  types,  and  we 
have  no*  design  to  make  it  a  guide-book  of  our  jour- 
ney, nor  to  garnish  its  pages  by  statistics  of  products 
or  population.  It  is  enough  to  say  that  these  com- 
bined cities,  whose  site  thirty  years  ago  was  nameless, 
have  now  a  population  of  one  hundred  and  sixty  thou- 
sand, with  many  railroads,  great  mills  of  every  kind, 
and  a  business  and  social  life  having  scant  trace  of 
pioneer  days  and  ways.  There  are  surprising  beauties 
in  the  outskirts  of  the  cities,  in  fair  lakes  set  round 
with  winding  roads  overgrown  with  trees  and  vines, 
and  some  historic  spots  whose  natural  beauties  have 
received  the  new  enchantments  that  legend  and  po- 
etry give. 

Westward  now,  straight  as  the  arrow  flies,  with 
hardly  shadow  of  a  turning  till  we  cross  the  bar  at 
the  mouth  of  the  Columbia,  we  are  started  on  our 
two  thousand  mile  railway  ride ! 

The  cars  are  neat  and  all  the  appointments  ele- 
gant, and  with  the  dining  cars  by  day  and  the  Pul- 
man  sleepers  for  the  night,  we  need  not  make  our 
pilgrimage  a  penance. 

The  country  through  Western  Minnesota  is  half 
familiar,  for  it  is  a  land  of  lakes  and  forests  such 


16  RAMBLES   OVERLAND. 

as  we  have  seen  at  home.  At  Brainerd  there  is  ex- 
citement, for  a  local  worthy,  one  Jack  O'Neill,  is 
dead,  and  "  the  boys  "  are  giving  him  the  honor  of 
the  best  funeral  the  town  affords.  His  life  has  not 
been  one  of  unmixed  virtue,  for  he  died  possessed  of 
a  dance-house  and  two  saloons,  was  "  lively  with  his 
gun,"  and  not  one  but  many  times  had  "  killed  his 
man."  But  memories  are  short  in  the  presence  of 
the  dead,  and  the  Brainerd  boys  cannot  miss  the 
opportunity  of  improving  the  occasion.  The  pro- 
cession is  in  progress  as  the  train  comes  in  ;  the  mu- 
nicipal police,  three  in  number,  with  silver  stars  and 
locust  clubs,  all  the  coaches  that  the  town  affords  are 
here,  with  a  motley  following  of  wagons  of  varied 
kinds,  and  a  showy  hearse  attended  by  a  band.  So 
the  ex-saloonist  is  being  gathered  to  his  fathers. 

In  the  early  morning  we  cross  the  Eed  Eiver  and 
are  in  the  Territory  of  Dakota.  How  wonderful  it 
is  in  its  illimitable  magnitude  !  For  three  hundred 
miles  due  west  we  shall  journey  on  its  soil,  and  see  in 
these  pioneer  homes  the  beginning  of  the  splendid 
empire  that  is  to  be. 

No  richer  soil  lies  out-doors  than  this  of  the  Eed 
Eiver  valley,  and  the  subsequent  journey  across  the 
continent  shows  no  land  so  rich.  The  river  is  a 
sluggish  creek,  but  it  is  navigable  for  the  rude  stern- 
wheelers  northward  for  many  miles.  There  is  but 
little  poetry  of  pleasant  winding  paths  along  its  banks, 


WESTWARD   HO!  17 

for  they  are  bare  of  trees  except  scattered  cotton- 
woods.  Fargo  is  a  thriving  city  of  ten  thousand 
people,  with  electric  lights  and  all  the  things  that 
make  a  city  in  these  modern  times.  The  great  bonan- 
za farms  are  here,  and  it  was  these  that  gave  impetus 
to  Fargo.  We  pass  the  Dalrymple  farm,  with  its 
great  stacks  and  wide-extended  buildings.  The  farm 
is  estimated  to  contain  seventy-five  thousand  acres, 
and  the  profits  in  1882  from  the  twenty-seven 
thousand  acres  under  cultivation  were  upwards  of 
two  hundred  thousand  dollars.  Large  towns  are  left 
behind ;  stations  now  are  hardly  more  than  stopping- 
places  ;  here  and  there  a  solitary  pre-emptor's  cabin 
rises  on  these  billowy  plains,  and  about  it  are  little 
signs  of  life,  — 

"  The  first  low  wash  of  waves,  where  soon 
Shall  roll  the  human  sea." 

There  is  a  strange  fascination  in  these  unfenced 
plains  ;  the  sky  makes  such  perfect  circle  of  the  hori- 
zon as  one  observes  at  sea  ;  far  backward  even  to  the 
sky,  forward  too  into  the  sky  beyond,  the  iron  path 
trails  on  its  limitless  length  without  a  break ;  little 
buttes  or  hills  dot  the  landscape,  and  narrow  streams 
fringed  with  the  cotton-wood,  which  of  all  the  trees  is 
the  only  one  loyal  to  the  plains.  The  fields  are  not 
absolutely  level,  but  swelling  in  gentle  undulations, 
with  such  variety  of  outline  that  one  travels  across 

2 


18  RAMBLES  OVERLAND. 

Dakota  without  weariness  of  seeing,  every  sense  held 
captive  by  the  fascination  of 

"  These  gardens  of  the  desert, 
The  unshorn  fields,  boundless  and  beautiful, 
For  which  the  speech  of  England  has  no  name, — 
The  prairies." 

The  land  grows  bare  as  we  move  westward  from 
the  Eed  River,  though  nowhere  do  we  find  it  poor, 
according  to  our  New  England  standard;  the  crops 
give  only  partial  promise.  The  passengers  are  few, 
made  up  of  tourists, —  not  many  going  across  the  con- 
tinent, the  forward  car  being  filled  with  emigrants 
seeking  homes. 

At  Bismarck,  four  hundred  and  twenty  miles  from 
St.  Paul,  we  find  the  newly  selected  site  of  the  capital 
of  the  Territory.  It  is  a  city,  as  things  go  here,  but 
has  failed  to  catch  the  boom  it  has  desired,  until  now, 
selected  as  the  place  of  legislation,  the  thrifty  citizens 
wait  for  the  coming  of  the  expected  multitudes.  It 
has  a  population  of  three  thousand  five  hundred,  but 
is  limitless  in  expectations.  In  the  Land  Office  that 
we  visit,  the  city  that  is  to  be  is  marked  upon  the 
map  with  metropolitan  dimensions,  with  squares  and 
parks,  great  blocks,  and  avenues  leading  into  space. 
The  stores  are  large  in  superficial  surface  on  the 
street,  but  apt  to  disappoint  behind  the  wide-extended 
fronts;  and  these  frail  houses  which,  covered  with  no 


WESTWARD   HO  I  19 

hypocrisy  of  paint,  so  show  the  grain  of  the  native 
pine  can  hardly  give  much  comfort  when  the  bliz- 
zards come. 

We  have  no  thought  of  purchase  here,  for  we  are 
no  incognito  millionnaires ;  but  upon  the  sidewalk  a 
seedy-looking,  landless  native  spies  us,  and  comes  up 
with  friendly  warning  against  the  land-sharks  of  the 
place.  To  soften  his  revilings  we  mildly  ask,  "Is 
not  the  land  here  good  ?"  when  he  turns  upon  us 
with  such  contempt  as  the  "  tender-foot "  merits  from 
the  natives,  and  contemptuously  answers,  "  Good  ! 
why,  man,  it  won't  make  mud ! "  The  Missouri  River 
is  a  mile  beyond,  spanned  by  a  million-dollar  bridge. 
The  river  is  simply  a  vast  mud-puddle  in  motion, 
with  great  flats  and  meadows  covered  with  marshy 
grass  sifted  full  of  sand;  the  shores  are  bluffy,  but 
unattractive ;  and  the  voyage  to  Fort  Benton,  a  thou- 
sand miles  beyond,  on  these  rude  steamers  here,  does 
not  form  an  outlook  sufficiently  alluring  to  make  us 
tarry  for  the  long  d&our. 

Fort  Lincoln  is  close  in  sight  upon  the  bluff,  with 
many  associations  of  recent  Indian  wars  and  the  brave 
Ouster,  who  was  stationed  here.  The  rival  city,  Man- 
dan,  is  on  the  river's  western  side,  —  hardly  in  sight 
of  it,  but  far  enough  away  to  miss  the  risings  of  the 
current  in  the  days  of  freshet.  It  has  a  depot  in  the 
Queen  Anne  style,  and  such  a  hotel  as  we  have  no- 
where found  since  we  left  the  "Nicolett"  at  Minne- 


20  RAMBLES  OVERLAND. 

apolis.  A  little  park  is  beside  the  track,  and  the 
repair-shops  of  the  road  are  here.  It  has  the  favor 
of  the  railway,  and  on  this  is  built  the  expectations 
of  the  future.  The  city  is  between  two  rivers,  for  the 
Heart  is  just  beyond ;  it  is  a  county  seat,  and  its 
population  has  doubled  in  the  year.  In  1879  the 
Indians  had  encampment  here,  the  Sioux  and  Arick- 
arees  having  then  a  pitched  battle.  It  is  only  a  two- 
year-old  town,  but  has  a  public  hall,  a  lyceum  course, 
and  the  inevitable  brace  of  rival  papers.  The  main 
street  is  lined  with  stores,  and  only  with  difficulty  — 
because  of  the  swarming  crowds  —  can  we  find  pas- 
sage on  the  sidewalks.  The  land  slopes  up  to  a  high 
bluff,  on  which,  in  vision,  doubtless  every  merchant 
now  can  see  the  shapely  house  he  will  inhabit  when 
the  millennium  that  is  coming  is  fully  come. 

Mandan  has  peculiarly  interesting  prehistoric  relics. 
An  old  cemetery  has  been  found  near  by,  containing 
the  bones  of  a  giant  race ;  mounds  filled  with  stone 
weapons,  arrow  heads,  rude  pottery,  vases  of  flints 
and  agates.  The  pottery  is  delicately  finished,  and 
decorated  with  much  artistic  skill  The  mounds  are 
not  simply  the  treasure-chests  of  a  vanished  race,  but 
catacombs  of  the  dead.  Skeletons  of  men  and  horses 
rest  here  in  shrouds  of  ashes;  and  though  the  Indians 
have  tenacious  memories,  and  preserve  traditions  of 
the  dead  for  ages,  yet  they  have  no  legends  coming 
down  from  older  tribes  of  this  race  buried  here,  and 


WESTWARD   HO  !  21 

they  call  these  "  spirit  mounds,"  filled  with  relics  of 
a  shadowy  people. 

We  may  be  pardoned  if  we  linger  here  at  Mandan 
longer  than  is  our  custom  in  our  westward  flight,  for 
why  should  not  our  heart  be  where  our  treasure  is  ? 
Yes,  we  are  owners  of  Mandan  soil!  This  is  the 
fashion  in  which  it  happens :  We  are  writing  in  the 
office  of  the  "  Inter-Ocean  ; "  the  Professor  paces 
close  beside  us,  impatient  for  his  bed.  A  young 
man  enters  and  claims  acquaintance  with  him  on 
the  ground  that  he  once  slept  beneath  his  teachings 
in  the  class-room.  The  young  man  has  a  land  office 
in  the  town,  and  as  it  is  yet  some  short  of  midnight, 
and  we  are  to  leave  upon  the  morning  train,  he  invites 
him  down  to  see  the  good  fortune  he  has  acquired. 

In  an  hour's  time  a  messenger  comes  back  with 
summons  from  the  Professor,  and  in  an  office  with 
great  maps  spread  over  his  extended  knees  we  find 
him  seriously  meditating  a  purchase  in  the  town. 
The  Professor  is  a  man  mature  in  years ;  not  greatly 
given  to  foolish  speculation,  nor  so  affluent  in  purse 
that  he  can  greatly  hinder  the  advent  of  actual  set- 
tlers by  his  speculative  dissipations.  We  try  beneath 
the  map  to  nudge  him  into  caution,  making  pleasantly 
satirical  remarks  about  buying  city  lots  in  a  town 
scarce  weaned  as  yet ;  but  the  Professor  has  the  mania 
on,  and  feeling  that  it  would  be  a  shabby  thing  to 
desert  a  friend,  we  buy  the  lots  adjoining  those  se- 


22  RAMBLES   OVEBLAND. 

lected  by  the  learned  pundit,  that  we  may  throw  our 
tomato-cans  over  the  Professor's  fence,  and  also  ab- 
sorb such  wisdom  as  comes  from  close  proximity  to 
the  home  where  a  wise  man  lives. 

"We  put  the  agent  on  his  honor,  and  are  assured  — 
for  he  seems  to  be  an  honest  man  —  that  in  a  year,  at 
least,  the  lots  will  double ;  and  though  we  offer  then 
and  there  to  sell  them  back  for  just  a  third  above  the 
cost,  and  save  the  trouble  of  a  deed,  yet  his  refusal 
does  not  shake  our  faith,  and  our  Mandan  lots,  half 
through  the  summer,  by  reason  of  the  profit  they  will 
bring,  give  reason  for  every  folly  that  depletes  the 
hoard  hidden  in  our  inner  pocket  for  the  trip.  We 
walk  out  in  the  moonlight  to  see  the  purchase  we 
have  made  :  we  find  the  place  where  the  boulevard 
will  be  on  which  our  lots  face  so  pleasantly  upon  the 
map,  and  though  the  bluff  on  which  they  rest  is  some- 
what distant,  and  there  is  no  sign  of  habitation  with- 
in a  mile  at  least,  and  though  the  city  seems  to  be 
growing  east  instead  of  west,  yet  we  have  somewhere 
heard  that  every  city  at  last  grows  on  its  westward 
side,  and  that  the  star  of  empire  westward  goes  in 
the  direction  of  our  lots.  So  we  find  comfort,  in  the 
moonlight,  looking  at  our  land,  though,  to  be  fair  and 
square,  we  have  no  other  hint  of  where  it  is,  beyond 
the  general  fact  that  it  is  somewhere  between  the  track 
and  the  Canadian  line. 

Six  hundred  miles  or  more  from  St.  Paul,  and 


WESTWAKD  HO  !  23 

we  roll  off  the  prairie  into  the  "  Bad  Lands, " 
which  extend  on  either  side  of  the  Little  Missouri 
River  through  a  belt  of  forty  miles.  It  is  a  region 
of  desolation,  softened  by  spots  of  tender  beauty. 
Great  buttes  of  clay  seamed  with  gulches,  fields 
compared  with  which  the  dreariest  desert  is  beauti- 
ful ;  bluffs  scarred  with  such  washings  as  the  storms 
may  give ;  vast  amphitheatre-like  spaces ;  the  broken, 
colorless  soil  walled  around  with  hills  carved  into 
such  fantastic  sculpturings  as  a  race  of  giant  goblins 
might  fashion. 

There  are  wondrous  colors  here  :  great  buttes  gir- 
dled with  yellow  bands,  and  bright  vermilion  patches 
set  against  the  neutral  tints  of  this  weird,  spectral 
land.  The  very  grass  is  wiry,  as  though  made  of 
steel,  covering  the  fields  which  have  softened  into 
vegetation  with  such  decoration  as  the  frost  rime 
makes  upon  a  winter's  day.  On  horseback  from  the 
Little  Missouri  station  we  ride  out  over  these  Bad 
Lands,  and  look  down  into  such  depths  of  desolation 
as  we  have  never  seen  before  :  scoriae,  petrified  wood, 
and  fossil  leaves  are  everywhere ;  mountains  of  lignite 
burning  in  perpetual  flames,  the  great  seams  sulphur- 
crested  ;  everywhere  fantastic  peaks,  monuments  set 
in  goblin  petrifactions, — such  is  this  "Pyramid 
Park,"  as  yet  almost  unknown  here  in  Dakota.  The 
Professor  tells  us  that  this  region  was  once  the  bed 
of  a  great  lake,  out  of  whose  richness  grew  luxuriant 


24  RAMBLES   OVERLAND. 

vegetation.  This  passed  away,  and,  pressed  by  suc- 
ceeding growths,  transformed  itself  into  vast  beds  of 
lignite  coal,  which,  being  without  cementing  ingre- 
dients, remained  soft,  and  easily  was  washed  by  rains. 
The  wear  and  wash  of  the  varied  strata  under  the 
action  of  rain  and  frost  were  very  great.  Hence 
"  the  little  watercourses  have  curiously  furrowed 
and  corrugated  sides,"  while  the  burning  coal  fuses 
the  over  and  under  lying  beds,  leaving  the  richly 
colored  slag,  and,  as  the  veins  burn  out,  great  pits  of 
desolation  where  the  earth  has  sunk. 

The  day  of  our  explorations  is  well  suited  to  this 
sombre  weirdness  of  landscape,  for  although  it  is  in 
midsummer,  the  cold  hail  falls,  and  the  wind,  whist- 
ling around  the  buttcs,  chills  us  to  the  marrow.  Our 
stopping-place  is  in  an  abandoned  fort,  converted,  now 
that  the  soldiers  have  moved  on,  into  a  tourist's  inn. 
It  is  the  centre  of  a  great  stock-raising  enterprise  re- 
cently set  on  foot  by  the  Marquis  de  Mores,  a  retired 
officer,  now  under  temporary  cloud  in  the  Mandan  jail 
because  of  his  killing  one  Eiley  Luffcey,  a  local  citi- 
zen. The  young  parson,  who  preaches  in  the  old  mess- 
room  on  the  Sabbath  evening  that  overtakes  us  here, 
conducted  the  burial  service.  He  tells  us  that  in  the 
annals  of  the  settlement  no  man  has  died  as  yet  out- 
side his  boots,  which  fact  does  not  greatly  cheer  us,  as 
in  the  old  fort  we  close  our  eyes  to  sleep. 

The  Montana  boundary  line  is  passed,  a  pair  of 


WESTWABD   HO  !  25 

antlers  nailed  upon  a  pole  marking  the  place,  and 
reaching  soon  the  Yellowstone,  for  upwards  of  three 
hundred  miles  we  pass  up  its  pleasant  valley.  The 
stream  has  large  proportions,  and  carries  its  clear 
waters  over  a  stony  bed ;  the  mountains  which  flank 
the  Rockies  bring  their  snowy  crests  in  view  ;  little 
camps  of  strolling  Indians  have  their  colored  tepees 
beside  the  track ;  the  cowboy  from  the  cattle-ranges 
becomes  a  familiar  sight ;  the  country  now  has  legends 
of  recent  Indian  battles ;  and  through  thriving  towns, 
in  sight  of  fairer  mountains,  we  come  to  Bozeman, 
where  we  shall  leave  for  a  time  our  westward  course, 
that  we  may  view  the  wonders  of  the  great  Yellow- 
stone Park. 

On  the  omnibus  which  bears  us  to  the  village,  a 
quarter  of  a  mile  away,  we  see  in  the  driver  one  whom 
we  used  to  know  as  a  thriving  merchant  in  the  Empire 
State,  while  on  the  steps  an  undergraduate  of  Yale, 
as  he  stretches  out  his  hand  for  fare,  answers  our 
remonstrance  with  the  significant  remark,  "  I  know, 
gentlemen,  it  is  something  of  a  swindle  to  ask  fifty 
cents  for  a  five-cent  ride,  but  it  is  the  custom  of  the 
country,"  and  —  we  find  it  is. 


THE  YELLOWSTONE  PARK. 


This  masquerade 
Of  shape  and  color,  light  and  shade. 

WHITTIEB. 


CHAPTER  II. 

THE  YELLOWSTONE    PARK. 

AT  ten  o'clock  on  a  perfect  summer  day  we  turn 
our  leaders'  heads  southward  from  the  town 
of  Bozeman  for  our  long  journey  through  the  Yel- 
lowstone Park.  Only  yesterday  we  reached  the 
town,  and  since  then  an  outfit  has  been  hired,  stores 
and  camping  equipage  procured,  and  the  expedition 
fitted  out.  Our  conveyance  is  a  Studebaker  wagon 
with  three  good  seats,  a  canvas  top,  with  wooden 
axles  for  the  wheels,  and  heavy  brake  for  the  steep 
pitches  of  the  hills.  Two  heavy  horses  are  at  the 
pole,  while  two  lighter  ones,  fit  for  saddle  purposes, 
serve  as  leaders.  We  have  provisioned  heavily,  for 
we  shall  find  no  stores  along  the  way,  carrying  also 
forage  for  the  horses,  with  tent  and  all  conveniences 
for  half  a  month  of  roughing  it.  Our  driver  is  a 
genius  in  his  way, "  Toot "  by  name,  although  not 
christened  by  it,  if  ever  he  was  christened.  His 
name  adorns  no  calendar  of  saints,  although  not 
half  those  ancient  worthies  had  such  nimble-witted 
tongue,  nor  hand  so  deft  in  all  the  arts  of  life  in 
wonder-land.  He  swears  at  times  with  most  provok- 


30  RAMBLES   OVERLAND. 

iog  volubility ;  but  his  oaths  are  not  the  common  sort, 
and  Toot  has  lived  for  half  his  life  upon  the  plains. 
He  draws  the  long  bow  sometimes  in  the  strange 
tales  he  tells  us ;  but  then  he  assures  us  he  is  not  like 
other  drivers  in  the  Park,  for  when  he  tells  the  truth 
he  is  not  ashamed  to  own  it.  In  vain  we  try  to  put 
our  jokes  upon  him ;  always  he  retorts  to  our  dis- 
comfiture, and  a  more  thoughtful,  generous-hearted, 
rough-and-ready  fellow  never  put  foot  upon  a  brake. 
He  seems  to  like  us,  too,  although  we  notice  with  just 
a  touch  of  sadness  that  while  he  calls  us  pilgrims 
without  one  hint  of  bitterness,  yet  when  he  wishes 
to  put  the  climax  on  the  list  of  nouns  with  which  he 
curses  the  stumbling  nigh-side  wheeler,  he  always 
adds,  as  the  final  curse,  the  word  "  pilgrim,"  which 
thing  we  do  not  like.  His  brother  "  Al "  is  with  us, 
too,  somewhat  jaded,  he  tells  us,  with  over-conviviality 
behind  the  bar  of  the  saloon  he  keeps  in  Bozeman, 
going  with  us  on  the  trip  to  try  and  taper  off,  al- 
though, to  tell  the  truth,  in  two  good  weeks  of  obser- 
vation we  cannot .  see  where  the  tapering  comes  in. 
He  is,  however,  a  ready-handed  fellow,  with  native 
shrewdness  much  sharpened  by  an  adventurous  life, 
and  at  the  camp-fire  or  on  the  long  stretches  of  the 
road  he  makes  the  hours  seem  short  with  the  story 
of  his  life. 

The  Professor  is  elated,  for  we  are  going  towards 
wonder-land,  and  he  has  absorbing  passion  for  freaks 


THE  YELLOWSTONE  PARK.  31 

of  nature  and  curious  forms  of  rock  and  stone,  with 
open  ear,  too,  for  every  touch  of  humor,  and  open- 
hearted  for  the  loveliness  there  is  in  nature.  The 
Dramatic  Critic  and  the  Reporter  sit  beside  each 
other,  hilarious  over  the  eternal  picnic  we  have  entered 
on ;  and  thus  equipped,  passing  beside  the  Chinese 
graveyard,  where  Toot  tells  us  he  has  often  feasted 
on  the  chicken  left  by  pious  friends  upon  the  graves, 
we  go  southward  towards  the  mountains  which  wall 
in  the  scenes  which  we  have  come  so  far  to  see. 

The  load  is  heavy,  for  the  springs  lie  flat  upon  the 
axles;  and  while  beyond  Fort  Ellis  and  over  the 
heavy  roads  we  journey,  we  may  briefly  tell  some- 
thing of  the  place  towards  which  our  leaders'  heads 
are  pointed. 

In  the  Territory  of  Wyoming,  in  the  northwestern 
portion,  a  tract  of  land,  larger  in  area  than  Rhode 
Island  and  Delaware  combined,  by  act  of  Congress, 
has  been  set  apart  for  a  national  park.  Nature  here 
has  gathered  her  masterpieces.  Mountains  tipped 
with  eternal  snows,  forests,  glens,  and  waterfalls, 
canons  colored  with  such  rare  tints  as  eye  has  never 
seen,  springs  and  rivers  of  boiling  water,  geysers, 
mud  springs,  lakes,  mineral  forests,  flowers,  all  that 
eye  can  wish  is  here.  All  this  is  preserved  as  the 
people's  pleasure  place  ;  no  devastating  hand  can  de- 
spoil, no  ranchman  here  shall  feed  his  flock,  nor 
farmer  turn  his  furrow.  The  roads  are  rude  as  yet, 


32  BAMBLES   OVERLAND. 

and  in  the  journey  of  three  hundred  miles  or  more 
that  we  shall  make  we  shall  find  no  hint  of  village, 
hardly  the  dwelling-place  of  human  soul. 

The  first  day  of  such  a  journey,  however  common- 
place, abounds  with  incident,  for  every  faculty  is  all 
alert,  —  even  so  trivial  a  thing  as  the  setting  of  the 
tire  beside  the  road,  wrapping  it  with  canvas  after 
the  manner  of  the  plains,  delights ;  while  the  long 
file  of  soldiers  with  dusty  horses,  returning  from 
escorting  General  Sherman  through  the  Park ;  the 
cattle  feeding  on  the  ranches ;  the  shifting  wonders  of 
mountain,  plain,  and  river ;  the  camp  at  evening ;  the 
innumerable  incidents  along  the  way, — make  pleasant 
the  two  days'  journey  to  the  Park. 

We  have  no  word  of  censure  for  those  who  have 
delayed  the  road,  for  no  iron  horse  on  iron  rails  could 
make  such  royal  journey  as  this  of  ours.  Every  hour 
the  mountains  seem  clothed  in  rarer  hues,  and  across 
the  fords  of  rivers,  camping  at  night  beside  streams 
flowing  over  grassy  beds,  riding  beneath  cliffs  fitly 
named  "  Cinnabar,"  and  over  streams  so  noisy  that  the 
name  "  Hell  Roaring  Creek  "  seems  not  out  of  place ; 
up  and  over  great  passes,  with  the  river  foaming  far 
below ;  through  pleasant  fields  and  glens,  with  crags 
and  peaks  and  every  form  of  nature  that  human  vision 
can  delight  in,  —  so  we  come  onward  to  the  Park 

Human  enterprise  is  quite  alive  just  here,  and, 
anticipating  that  the  terminus  of  the  road  would 


THE  YELLOWSTONE   PARK.  33 

make  a  place  of  business,  thrifty  fellows  had  made 
at  Gardiner  a  veritable  city.  The  Dramatic  Critic 
takes  the  census  of  the  town,  and  reports  thirty-two 
houses,  and  twenty-eight  of  them  saloons.  As  we  re- 
turn we  notice  at  the  post-office,  which  is  the  city's 
social  centre,  an  absence  of  the  ancient  worthies  we 
have  seen  before,  to  learn  that  they  are  in  attendance 
on  a  "  claim  "  meeting ;  for  gold,  they  tell  us,  has  been 
found  the  day  before,  though  in  the  pans  they  show 
us  we  confess  we  cannot  see  the  "  color "  of  which 
they  speak,  and  much  suspect  that  they  are  trying  to 
boom  the  town. 

Four  miles  beyond  and  we  are  in  the  Park,  and 
beneath  us  are  the  Mammoth  Hot  Springs.  In  the 
centre  of  the  little  valley  is  rising  the  great  hotel  of 
the  Park  Improvement  Company,  and  on  a  little  hill 
beyond  the  unpretentious  house  of  the  government 
superintendent.  Beyond  this,  on  either  side,  are 
thickly  wooded  hills,  and  on  the  east  great  mountains 
steep  of  ascent,  like  the  walls  of  Webster  from  the 
Crawford  Notch. 

For  acres  here  the  soil  is  spread  with  sinter,  the  de- 
posit from  the  boiling  springs,  white,  with  slight  shade 
of  yellow,  most  glaring  to  the  eyes.  Standing  senti- 
nel in  this  great  desolation  are  monumenta  of  sinter, 
the  Giant's  Thumb  and  liberty  Cap,  forty  feet  and 
more  in  height ;  and  then  back,  rising  in  terraces,  are 
the  famous  springs.  For  two  good  miles  or  more 

3 


34  RAMBLES   OVERLAND. 

above,  the  springs  commence  overflowing  into  pools, 
with  great  plateaus  acres  wide  between,  then  flowing 
down  and  down  in  terrace-like  descents  to  the  val- 
ley's base.  They  are  of  every  form :  round  like 
bowls,  semicircular  like  balconies,  with  scalloped 
rims  and  corrugated  sides.  Some  of  these  bowls 
are  veritable  cauldrons  with  seething  waters;  in 
others  the  water  lies  smooth  as  a  mirror's  face,  rich 
in  color  and  pleasant  to  the  taste.  It  has  magic 
power,  for  along  the  rims  of  these  countless  pools 
there  are  most  exquisite  decorations.  The  frost-work 
of  a  winter's  window  has  not  more  dazzling  wonders, 
delicate  fretted  work,  flowers  with  rarest  petals,  cu- 
rious lace-work  fashionings,  and  finer  weavings,  as 
though  a  spider's  web  had  stiffened  into  rock ;  with 
coralline  traceries  and  quaint  arabesques,  as  though 
this  were  the  fairy's  workshop,  and  we  had  surprised 
them  at  their  toil.  The  color,  too,  is  marvellous.  The 
prevailing  tint  is  salmon,  but  shading  into  every  hue, 
with  such  invisible  transitions  as  the  colors  of  a  rare 
sea-shell ;  and  there  are  great  bands  of  red  and  brown 
and  creamy  filaments  floating  in  the  water.  In  the 
St.  Lawrence,  just  outward  from  the  entrance-way  to 
the  Lake  of  the  Thousand  Islands,  there  is  a  great 
field  of  water  vegetation.  The  water  lies  not  many 
feet  above  the  bottom,  and  beneath  are  such  marvels  of 
marine  growth  as  we  have  never  elsewhere  seen ;  flow- 
ers and  weeds,  delicately  veined  leaves  and  twining 


THE   YELLOWSTONE   PARK.  35 

vines,  richer  because,  like  a  Claude  Lorraine  glass, 
the  transparent  water  adds  its  graces.  But  here  are 
greater  marvels,  flowers  of  finer  petals  and  richer 
hued;  and  the  grace  of  form  is  not  in  our  decep- 
tive vision,  for  beneath  our  microscopes  even  fairer 
wonders  are  revealed.  These  things  are  creations 
of  the  water,  from  it  they  receive  their  beauty 
and  by  it  they  exist;  and  when  the  gentle  tide 
recedes,  these  fair  wonders  change  to  the  white 
sinter's  dust. 

The  living  springs  are  numberless, —  an  area  of  one 
hundred  and  seventy  acres  is  covered  by  them, — while 
the  deposit  left  by  the  Sowings  of  ages  occupies  an 
area  of  three  square  miles.  But  backward  even  into 
the  forests  a  mile  beyond  are  extinct  springs,  dry 
caverns,  with  spectral  trees  half  buried  with  the 
sinter's  dust,  and  Stygian  caves  emitting  deadly 
fumes,  and  inland  lakes  set  round  with  marvels,  and 
walling  in  the  great  wonder-place  are  hills  set  thick 
with  foliage. 

We  push  onward  now,  for  in  our  explorations  we 
can  only  touch  and  go ;  but  we  will  not  push  with 
speed,  for  we  are  climbing  Terrace  Mountain,  and 
in  the  two  miles'  ascent  we  must  lift  ourselves 
three  thousand  feet.  The  road  is  beautiful  with 
forest  scenes ;  great  reaches  of  sunlight  leading  into 
distant  shade,  and  craggy  rocks  all  draperied  with 
moss,  and  such  pleasant  odors  as  the  woods  distil. 


36  RAMBLES   OVERLAND. 

A  dead  bear  lies  beside  the  road,  and  our  driver  tells 
us  that  we  must  keep  good  guard  to-night  at  our 
camp  close  by.  The  road  winds  on  in  pleasant  ways 
until,  twelve  miles  beyond  the  springs,  we  come  to  the 
Obsidian  Cliffs.  These  are  basalt  cliffs  one  thousand 
feet  in  length,  perhaps  two  hundred  feet  in  height, 
and  are  of  pure  volcanic  glass.  It  is  a  mountain  of 
jet,  black,  brilliant,  hard  as  flint.  It  is  literally  a 
glass  road  over  which  we  journey ;  for  Beaver  Lake 
is  just  below,  and  the  cliff  runs  its  roots  into  the 
waters.  Pick  and  drill  have  no  power  here,  and  only 
by  building  huge  fires  upon  the  rocks  and  breaking 
them  by  water  poured  upon  the  heated  stone,  could 
the  road  be  made. 

Nine  miles  beyond,  we  stop  for  lengthy  explora- 
tion of  the  Norris  Geyser  Basin.  We  are  in  the  gey- 
ser region  now,  and  out  of  the  forest.  Leaving  our 
team  to  meet  us  later,  we  enter  upon  what  seems  to 
be  a  frozen  sea.  For  miles  around  there  is  the  sin- 
ter's desolation,  with  no  relief  for  dazzled  eyes  save 
here  and  there  a  geyser's  intermittent  flow,  and  the 
green  woods  beyond.  On  the  edges  just  where  the 
woods  come  down  are  springs,  and  mud-pots  seething, 
—  boiling  springs,  and  great  cauldrons  horrible  to  see. 
From  the  overlooking  hill  we  survey  the  scene.  No 
nightmare  vision  ever  pictured  desolation  so  great. 
Sahara's  plains  are  soft  and  beautiful  compared  to 
this ;  for  there,  is  no  malignity,  but  here,  is  desola- 


THE  YELLOWSTONE   PARK.  37 

tion  most  complete,  and  added  to  it,  in  these  steam- 
ing cauldrons,  the  spouting  geysers,  the  dark  veno- 
mous-looking mud-pots  with  their  seething  mass  of 
variegated  clay,  there  is  active  hate.  The  very  soil 
beneath  our  feet  is  but  a  shell, — a  frozen  scum  above 
a  cauldron's  waters ;  and  fissures  yawn  at  us,  and 
the  thin  crust  bends,  and  from  crack  and  seam  come 
scream  and  hiss,  as  though  in  subterranean  caverns 
vipers  scented  the  coming  of  human  prey. 

The  desolation  is  oppressive ;  the  air  is  noisy  with 
escaping  steam  from  "  Steamboat  Vent,"  which  is  a 
huge  cavern  sending  forth  terrific  roar ;  and  though 
there  are  emerald  pools  holding  purest  water  in  royal 
vessels,  and  sulphur  crystals  yellow  as  beaten  gold, 
yet  the  scene  is  fearful  in  its  vast  unrelieved  malig- 
nant weirdness.  The  "  Minute  Man  "  is  a  spouting 
geyser  here,  throwing  steam  some  thirty  feet  in  height 
each  minute,  while  the  larger  "  Monarch  "  once  a  day 
sends  out  a  torrent  of  one  hundred  feet.  Coming 
through  the  forest  now,  three  miles  or  more,  we  de- 
scend into  Elk  Park,  one  of  the  pleasant  places  of 
which  this  great  domain  is  full.  It  is  almost  circular  in 
form,  rimmed  round  with  pleasant  hills,  thick-covered 
with  foliage.  A  tiny  spiral  of  steam  rising  in  the 
woods  beyond  is  all  the  token  given  that  this  is  the 
geyser  region.  Beyond  this  it  is  as  though  a  little 
English  vale  in  Sussex  had  been  transported  here; 
and  just  beyond  the  town  of  Ripon,  where  the  old 


38  RAMBLES  OVERLAND. 

path  winds  over  the  hills  on  its  meandering  way  to 
Fountains  Abbey,  the  fairest  ruins  in  Europe,  there  is 
a  scene  like  this.  The  grass  is  wild,  but  it  has  the' 
pleasant  lawn-like  green  of  fields  long  mellowed  by 
human  culture ;  and  by  such  graceful  slopings  does 
it  approach  the  hills,  and  by  such  gentle,  lover-like 
approaches  do  the  hills  bend  down  to  meet  the  fields, 
and  so  proudly  rise  the  peaks  that  sentinel  the  valley, 
that,  coming  from  the  geysers  yonder,  entrance  here 
is  like  the  merging  of  a  sleeper's  nightmare  into  a 
peaceful  dream. 

There  is  no  sight  of  human  habitation,  no  creature 
pastures  in  these  fields,  bright  with  ten  thousand 
flowers ;  like  all  the  region,  it  is  a  solitude,  save  only 
the  Gibbon  River,  which  flows  along  beside  our  wheels 
with  sluggish  flow. 

Into  the  Gibbon  River  Canon  we  enter  now.  The 
river  has  roused  with  sudden  passion,  and  fights  its 
way  along  with  tumult.  Two  thousand  feet  above  us 
the  walls  rise  up,  scarred  by  frost  and  storm,  yet 
decked  with  ferns  and  grasses,  where  the  rock  has 
softened  into  soil.  And  there  are  pleasant  things 
along  the  way,  —  great  bowlders  in  the  stream,  with 
trees  like  plumes  upon  them,  and  translucent  springs, 
and  boiling  ones  beside  the  way,  and  winding  ways 
along  the  bank,  and  sharp  pitches  downward  to  the 
river,  and  long  reaches  of  wheeling  in  the  stream 
hugging  the  cliff,  and  perilous  fords,  where  wonder  is 


THE   YELLOWSTONE  PARK.  39 

alive  as  to  whether  the  waters  will  submerge  the 
wheels. 

There  is  no  lovelier  forest  road  than  this ;  for  the 
air  is  resinous,  and  there  are  rare  surprises  of  cliff 
and  forest,  and  the  road  winds  on  in  gentle  curva- 
tures, while  our  wheels  run  noiselessly  over  the  rich 
brown  needles  of  the  pine.  Right  in  the  heart  of 
the  forest  is  the  Gibbon  River  Falls ;  the  descent  is 
perilous,  for  the  way  is  steep,  and  the  walls  of  the 
river  go  down  by  sheer  descent  into  a  vast  gulf. 
The  falls  are  not  wonderful  here,  but  in  New  Eng- 
land would  be  justly  famous. 

The  settings  are  incomparable ;  for  the  chasm  has 
grand  sweeping  lines,  and  the  rock  has  no  trace  of  any 
pity  in  fern  or  flower,  but  is  stern  and  pitiless  in  its 
neutral  tints,  saying  to  us,  if  it  speaks  at  all,  that  this 
is  stern  work,  standing  here  for  ages  in  the  wilder- 
ness to  guard  this  torrent. 

Out  of  the  very  heart  of  the  hills  the  river  comes ; 
it  takes  its  momentary  leap,  and,  flecked  with  foam, 
moves  out  of  the  awful  chasm  again  into  the  eternal 
shadows. 

The  sun  sets  everywhere,  but  seldom  with  such 
rare  colorings  as  tint  the  heavens  now,  as  with  hurry- 
ing wheels  for  the  night's  encampment,  crossing  the 
Divide  through  such  a  spectral  forest  as  Dord  paints 
for  the  journeys  of  the  "  Wandering  Jew,"  we  tether 
our  horses  beside  the  Firehole  River.  It  is  a  weird 


40  EAMBLES  OVERLAND. 

place.  The  river  fed  by  the  geysers  has  hardly  cooled 
as  yet,  and  when  the  great  camp-fire  is  kindled,  there 
are  most  uncanny  shadows  here.  There  is  a  strange 
witchery  in  this  camping-place.  The  wind  has  most 
peculiar  wail  and  moan;  the  camp-fire  never  before 
so  transformed  our  little  company.  And  why  is  it 
that  to-night  our  guides,  with  such  rare  embellish- 
ments of  fancy,  tell  of  old  fights  with  the  Sioux  and 
Pawnees  ?  All  through  the  night  the  strange  wind 
sighs  above  us ;  beyond,  the  Stygian  river  flows  with- 
out a  sound;  the  camp-fire  with  its  dying  flames 
makes  strange  shadows  till  the  dawn,  while  through 
the  night  the  stealthy  trampings  in  the  forest  seem 
to  come  from  other  beasts  than  those  that  draw  us  on 
our  journey. 

Only  a  few  miles  beyond  we  come  to  the  Middle 
Geyser  Basin.  The  local  name  is  "  Hell's  Half  Acre; " 
well  bestowed,  for  here  is  the  great  Excelsior  Geyser, 
the  largest  in  the  world.  Looking  down  into  it,  it 
seems  to  be  the  crater  of  hell,  two  hundred  feet  in 
width,  with  jagged  walls,  and  such  terrific  masonry 
as  infernal  spirits  might  have  laid.  The  cauldron 
bubbles,  seethes,  and  steams,  giving  no  hint  that 
twice  a  day  it  sends  forth  a  stream  of  water  that  is  a 
river  sixty  feet  in  diameter,  and  from  sixty  to  three 
hundred  feet  in  height.  The  little  channels  which 
carry  constantly  the  drainage  of  the  geyser  are  rare 
in  beauty,  being  lined  with  delicate  silken  laminae  of 


THE   YELLOWSTONE  PARK.  41 

wondrous  color,  shading  from  white  to  rose,  mauve, 
and  scarlet. 

,  Behind  this  geyser,  upward  toward  the  hills,  is 
the  Grand  Prismatic  Pool.  These  other  things  are 
wonderful,  and  this  whole  region  is  the  wonder-land ; 
but  here,  unless  there  is  some  unwonted  sorcery  in 
the  atmosphere  of  this  summer's  day,  is  the  most 
beautiful  thing  the  whole  round  earth  carries  on 
its  bosom,  —  a  pool  of  water  three  hundred  feet 
in  width,  deep  in  its  central  part,  but  shallow  like 
the  sea  where  it  touches  the  shore.  The  water  is 
simply  marvellous  in  beauty.  A  thousand  rainbows 
must  be  dissolving  here  ;  for  from  the  central  blue 
wondrous  tints  of  emerald,  sapphire,  beryl,  topaz, 
orange,  green,  yellow,  all  intermingle,  —  not  simply 
dead  color,  but  brilliant,  flashing  like  polished  gems. 
This  comes  from  no  enchantment  of  the  sun;  from 
every  point  the  beauty  is  the  same ;  and  though  we 
climb  into  the  forest,  and  look  down  between  the 
branches,  even  then  the  great  pool  lies  in  the  sun, 
like  a  vision  of  the  celestial  city.  The  settings  of 
this  wondrous  thing  are  worthy  of  it.  Its  walls  are 
carved,  as  no  sculptor's  chisel  ever  cut,  with  strange 
garlandings  of  leaf  and  flower,  and  rare  enamellings, 
with  silken  filaments  underneath  concealing,  yet  re- 
vealing, fairer  beauties. 

The  Turquoise  Pool,  on  a  lower  level,  to  one  who 
will  study  its  attractions,  may  almost  dispute  the 


42  RAMBLES   OVERLAND. 

supremacy  with  the  more  brilliant  beauty  just  above. 
It  is  one  hundred  feet  across,  with  irregular  outline, 
having  on  its  outer  rim,  where  the  water  does  not 
come,  only  the  common  sinter ;  but  just  below,  where 
the  magic  water  touches,  there  are  delicate  enamel- 
lings,  fawn-colored,  changing  into  rings  of  every  hue, 
with  the  ever-present  mineral  flowers  that  these  wa- 
ters love  spread  in  bounty  everywhere.  The  water  is 
translucent,  and  down  into  great  depths  it  goes.  The 
walls  below  are  white  like  alabaster,  but  strangely 
veined  like  agate.  Great  projecting  walls  come  out, 
broken  into  craggy  summits,  like  tiny  mountain  ridges ; 
and  there  are  winding  roads  against  the  cliffs,  and 
little  walls  built  upon  the  outer  side,  and  marble 
bridges  stained  as  though  with  age ;  and  underneath 
them  torrents  flow,  and  if  one  but  had  the  finer  vision, 
he  would  see,  no  doubt,  armies  winding  up  and  down, 
and  naiads  looking  at  them  from  the  peaks  above : 
into  all  curious  things  this  pool  is  broken,  —  caves 
and  peaks,  faint  hint  of  castles,  so  marvellously  has 
Nature  wrought. 

Six  miles  above,  fifty  miles  southward  from  the 
entrance  of  the  Park,  the  geyser  region  culminates  in 
the  Upper  Basin.  This  place  contains  four  square 
miles,  and  within  an  area  of  half  a  mile  is  the 
greatest  geyser  region  in  the  world.  The  surface  is 
irregular,  rising  in  ridges  from  the  river,  and  on  these 
are  the  multitude  of  geysers  and  boiling  springs.  It 


THE  YELLOWSTONE   PARK.  43 

is  not  easy  to  compute  their  number.  There  are  at 
least  twenty  geysers  of  great  size,  with  many  others 
of  lesser  fame.  They  have  built  up  a  kind  of  collar 
around  their  orifices  of  geyserite,  —  hard,  smooth, 
delicately  tinted.  Some  of  these  in  the  older  ones 
are  great  mounds,  others  small ;  some  with  but  one 
orifice,  others,  like  the  grotto,  with  many.  The  inter- 
val between  the  eruptions  varies  from  one  hour  to 
fourteen  days,  the  height  of  the  stream  also  varying 
from  twenty  to  two  hundred  feet.  The  geysers 
change  from  time  to  time,  —  old  ones  becoming  ex- 
tinct, new  ones  breaking  out  in  other  places.  They 
are  of  every  form,  from  a  plain  cone  to  great  fantastic 
grottos.  The  form  of  their  flowing  varies  :  some  flow 
in  a  constant,  even,  symmetrical  flow ;  others,  in  great 
spurts. 

As  we  enter  the  basin,  the  Castle  is  rumbling  with 
terrific  violence.  The  water  has  just  ceased,  but  for 
an  hour  at  least  there  will  be  the  sound  of  the  sub- 
siding agitation.  During  our  stay  many  others  throw 
their  stream,  awing  us  with  the  majesty  of  their 
terrific  power.  One  wonders  here  and  is  silent.  He 
feels  that  there  is  a  power  slumbering  beneath  his 
feet,  compared  with  which  human  strength  is  weak- 
ness; and  stay  he  longer  or  shorter  time,  he  never 
learns  to  become  familiar  with  these  vast  forces 
imprisoned  here. 

We  pitch  our  tent  among  these  things,  and  watch 


44  RAMBLES   OVERLAND. 

and  wonder.  Once  an  hour  Old  Faithful  throws  its 
stream  a  good  hundred  feet,  —  beautiful  by  day 
as  the  fountains  of  Versailles ;  but  when  the  moon- 
light falls  at  night,  what  pen  can  tell  the  story  of  its 
loveliness  ? 


SAUNTERINGS  IN  WONDEIULAND. 


To-morrow  to  fresh  woods  and  pasture*  new. 

LYCIDAB. 


CHAPTER  III. 

SAUNTERINGS  IN  WONDER-LAND. 

~P)ACKWARD  on  our  track,  ten  miles  or  more, 
-•— '  we  must  come  to  the  forks  of  the  Firehole 
before  we  branch  eastward  to  the  lake  thirty  miles 
away.  The  Madison  Divide  lies  across  the  way,  and, 
by  long  and  tedious  ascent,  must  be  crossed.  The 
way  is  through  the  forest  now.  Over  the  summit, 
dropping  down  a  little,  we  come  to  Mary's  Lake,  a 
little  mountain  tarn,  set  round  with  woods.  Pleasant 
alternations  of  woods  and  fields  now  follow ;  and  when 
we  reach  the  Hayden  Valley,  and  for  hours  wind  over 
its  rolling  fields,  we  find  that  we  have  come  upon 
another  phase  of  the  strangely  varying  scenery  of 
this  wonder  region.  Little  bits  of  exquisite  land- 
scape come  in  view,  picturesque  woodland  scenes, 
with  great  rolling  sweeps  of  verdure,  bounded  by 
the  "Washburn  range,  at  whose  feet  is  the  crowning 
wonder  of  waterfall  and  gorge.  Our  camp  at  night  is 
beside  the  Black  Foot  Creek,  just  in  the  fringes  of 
the  woodland  where  pasturage  grows  rank,  and  wood 
and  water,  the  essentials  of  a  camp,  are  found. 


48  RAMBLES   OVERLAND. 

The  wagon  road  now  winds  on  around  the  shoul- 
ders of  little  buttes  which  dot  the  Park;  but  in 
the  clear  morning  air  —  being  on  horseback  now  — 
we  can  make  straight  passage  towards  the  distant 
river,  having  time  in  our  solitary  journey  to  catch 
the  full  glory  of  this  rare  morning  light,  and  see, 
unvexed  by  sound  of  wheel  or  human  voice,  the 
pleasant  things  along  the  way.  There  is,  too,  a 
slight  hint  of  trail,  and,  even  if  we  lose  the  course, 
we  have  but  to  go  upon  the  summit  of  these  little 
peaks  to  see  the  wagon  winding  on  its  way.  It 
is  a  balmy  air,  and  over  Italy  never  brooded  a 
fairer  sky  than  this.  The  trail  has  curious  wind- 
ings, and  the  grass  is  brilliant  with  many  flowers. 
We  know  not  whether,  in  the  high  altitudes,  it  is 
because  the  flowers  are  nearer  to  the  sun  that  they 
have  unwonted  color,  but  nowhere  is  there  such 
a  field  of  cloth  of  gold  as  on  the  Alps,  not  half  a 
mile  on  the  south  side  of  the  very  summit  of  the 
Simplon  Pass ;  and  no  florist's  garden  ever  had  such 
royal  blue  and  yellow  star-shaped  flowers,  as  these 
that  lie  here  looking  at  the  sun. 

We  are  in  the  valley  now,  and  in  steady,  even  rise 
the  fields  slope  upward  to  the  forests,  which  come 
down  in  little  points,  with  pleasant  pasture-lands  be- 
tween, running  up  beneath  the  branches  into  turf 
made  brown  with  the  needles  of  the  pines.  An  elk 
with  branching  antlers  is  striding  on,  just  beyond 


SAUNTERINGS   IN   WONDER-LAND.  49 

our  bullet's  range,  if  we  had  heart  to  kill ;  and  across 
a  river  ford  we  now  go  upward  into  groves,  not 
dense  nor  large,  but  such  shady  places  as  fringe  the 
old  pastures  on  the  New  England  hills.  The  flow- 
ers only  follow  us  to  the  borders  of  the  woods ;  but 
there  are  lights  and  shadows  dancing  here,  and  such 
sweet  balsam  odors  as  intoxicate.  We  are  eight 
thousand  feet  above  the  sea,  but  there  is  no  sign  of 
stunted  vegetation.  The  road  dips  downward  into 
pleasant  valleys,  then  on  again  between  the  trees,  the 
great  ranges  coming  into  vision  on  the  summits. 
The  solitude  is  absolute ;  no  cattle  pasture  here ;  no 
smoke  from  any  home ;  no  sound  of  bird  nor  in- 
sect, —  nothing  save  the  low  sweet  whispering  of  the 
pines,  wondering  to  each  other  why  this  stranger  has 
come  to  break  their  solitude.  As  we  descend  the 
hill,  the  great  river  comes  in  view.  It  is  a  lordly 
thing ;  how  broad  it  is !  green  as  Niagara,  and  swift 
as  the  "  arrowy  Ehone " !  While  descending  a  lit- 
tle on  the  river's  bank,  in  the  progress  of  our  jour- 
ney, we  look  down  into  the  river  just  where  an 
indentation  of  the  shore  makes  a  little  bay  of  quiet 
water,  and  there  we  count  more  than  thirty  trout, 
good  fourteen  inches  long,  we  know ;  and  this  can 
be  relied  upon,  because  we  are  no  fisherman,  and 
have  not  that  infirmity  of  conscience  which  makes 
an  angler  incapable  of  probity  when  speaking  of  a 
fish. 

4 


50  RAMBLES  OVERLAND. 

We  have  a  friend  at  home  who  has  always  much 
annoyed  us  by  speaking  of  the  monster  fish  he 
catches,  and  simply  that  we  may  overtop  our  friend's 
romanciugs,  we  throw  a  fly  into  the  stream,  and  (to 
be  fairly  honest)  in  less  than  forty  seconds  we  land 
two  of  these  monsters. 

We  are  going  up  the  river  now,  and  just  where 
the  lawn-like  fields  merge  in  the  forest,  opens  wide 
the  great  lake  we  have  come  so  far  to  see.  We  have 
large  payment  for  our  pains.  It  is  something  won- 
derful to  think  that  if  Mount  Washington  were  sunk 
within  these  waters,  down  to  the  level  of  the  sea, 
still  the  surface  of  the  lake  would  be  half  the  moun- 
tain's height  above  its  summit.  It  has  an  area  of 
some  one  hundred  and  fifty  miles  or  more,  in  shape 
not  unlike  the  open  palm,  with  such  extensions  of 
bay  and  inlet  as  the  fingers  make  upon  the  hand. 
The  color  is  intensely  brilliant,  a  bright  sapphire 
blue.  Did  we  dare  to  draw  its  outlines,  we  should 
say  that  on  the  northern  side  there  is  a  long  bluffy 
shore,  with  trees  of  fir  and  pine,  terminating  near 
the  waters  in  pleasant  pasture-lands,  which  catch 
and  hold  the  evening  light.  Back  of  these  is  the 
great  Wind  Eiver  range,  most  rugged  peaks,  with 
gnarled  and  seamy  sides.  The  lake  flows  round  out- 
jutting  points,  and  then  stretches  out  its  sapphire 
arms  in  great  reaches  till  it  touches  a  rough  wall  of 
stone,  which,  if  the  intervening  twenty  miles  do  not 


8AUNTERINGS   IN  WONDER-LAND.  51 

deceive  us,  is  a  mountain,  reaching  up  ten  thousand 
feet  or  more,  till  it  finds  its  thatch  of  eternal  snow. 
Southward  moving  upon  the  other  side,  and  there  great 
tongues  of  mountains  push  into  the  lake,  backed  by 
twin  peaks,  which  seem  to  be  within  speaking-dis- 
tance of  each  other,  but  may  be  forty  miles  away. 
Coming  nearer,  we  find  a  gentler  mountain,  which 
has  so  yielded  to  milder  influences  that  it  has  per- 
mitted the  warm  fir-trees  to  clothe  it.  The  old  bar- 
baric temper  is  not  all  civilized  out  of  it,  for  there  is 
just  one  touch  of  snow  hanging  defiant  still  upon  its 
front.  And  now  far  southward,  with  only  a  low  arm 
of  land,  thick-wooded,  and  with  perhaps  another  arm 
of  the  lake  behind  it,  looms  up  the  grand  old  Teton 
range,  not  serrated  like  the  mountains  on  the  other 
side,  but  broad-flanked  and  snow-crowned. 

There  is  an  island  lying  midway  in  the  lake,  having, 
we  know,  fair  scenes,  if  only  there  was  boat  of  any 
kind  upon  the  lake.  The  shores  upon  the  western 
side  slant  down  in  pleasant  beaches,  covered  thick 
with  rare  obsidian  glass,  petrified  wood,  jasper,  chal- 
cedony, with  little  ridges  of  shining  sand,  black  as 
ink,  and  windrows  of  pebbles  mixed  with  stones  of 
brilliant  hue.  The  Yellowstone  Lake  is  scarcely 
known,  and  yet  it  can  but  be  the  case  that  it  is 
soon  to  take  its  place  among  the  world's  famous 
lakes.  The  English  lakes,  without  their  associations, 
are  not  so  fair  as  this.  Loch  Lomond  is  a  fadeless 


52  RAMBLES   OVERLAND. 

picture ;  but  the  rare  sunset  which  changed  its  waters 
into  a  lake  of  amethyst  belongs  not  to  it,  and  only 
once  in  a  thousand  years  can  it  be  illuminated  with 
such  glory  as  transfigured  it  before  our  adoring  eyes. 
Maggiore  is  matchless  in  the  placidity  of  its  waters, 
with  the  Alps  towering  over  them,  with  shores  gar- 
landed with  traceries  of  vine  and  thicket ;  but  it  is 
a  painted  sea  of  dreams,  and  these  islands  are  made 
by  hand  of  man  rather  than  the  work  of  God. 
Como  is  beautiful  beyond  expression;  to  describe 
its  beauties  by  common  prose  is  profanation,  —  only 
poetry  or  music  can  picture  Coino  with  its  waters 
winding  in  among  the  encircling  hills,  and  its  marble 
villas  peeping  out  from  groves  of  fig  and  lustrous  veil 
of  vine.  But  Como  is  a  river  rather  than  a  lake,  lack- 
ing strength,  as  do  all  these  southern  lakes.  They 
are  beautiful,  but  strength  and  beauty  must  be  joined 
in  bridal  bonds  to  make  the  perfect  scene.  Lake 
Geneva  in  Switzerland,  and  our  own  Lake  George, 
are  hardly  fairer  than  this  almost  unknown  lake  of 
wonder-land.  Geneva  is  grander  in  proportions,  the 
mountains  slope  in  fairer  lines,  and  there  are  terraced 
vineyards,  and  the  inimitable  charm  that  history  and 
poetry  give ;  but  this  lake  has  larger  breadth,  and  we 
do  not  think  that  even  Geneva's  waters  ever  have 
such  rare  brilliancy  of  hue ;  while  the  mountains  of 
Lake  George,  fair  as  they  are  in  their  great  burly 
massiveness,  lack  the  royal  crown  of  these  eternal 
snows. 


SAUNTERINGS  IN   WONDER-LAND.  53 

Five  miles  beyond,  backward  from  the  lake,  by 
pleasant  forest  trail,  we  find  the  Natural  Bridge, 
a  span  of  thirty  feet,  thrown  in  shapely  arch  one 
hundred  feet  above  the  stream. 

There  is  some  human  interest  here  in  our  camp 
beside  the  lake,  for  there  is  coming  now  out  of  the 
forest  the  shaggy-bearded  ranger  whom  two  hours 
ago  we  met  far  back  upon  the  Colorado  trail.  He  has 
driven  his  twenty  horses  for  five  months  thus  through 
the  wilderness  from  the  far  southern  country;  and 
later  on  we  hear  that  he  has  stolen  them  from  an 
Indian  whom  he  murdered.  At  any  rate,  he  is  most 
shy  of  speech,  keeping  note  of  passing  days  by  the 
notched  stick  hanging  at  his  belt,  and  driving  in  the 
brood,  —  the  little  colts  born  on  the  journey  through 
the  woods,  —  the  herd  led  on  by  a  sorrel  leader  with 
a  tinkling  bell. 

We  have  neighbors  now  making  camp  beside  us 
on  the  bluff  above  the  lake.  A  sick  man,  in  a  rude 
log  cabin,  has  spent  the  summer  here,  coming  from 
his  distant  home,  cheated  with  delusive  hope  that 
this  pure  air  might  build  again  his  broken  lungs ;  the 
librarian  of  Yale  College  is  in  the  adjoining  camp, 
most  deft  of  hand  in  all  the  service  of  this  gypsy  life ; 
and  when  the  night  comes  on,  and  the  great  camp-fire 
burns,  we  send  invitation  to  our  neighbors  to  come 
and  visit  us,  and  so  we  sit  and  talk  beside  the  fire, 
—  the  Professors,  of  the  wonders  of  the  region ;  old 


54  RAMBLES   OVERLAND. 

tourists,  of  routes  of  travel;  the  younger  men  and 
women,  of  other  things,  we  guess,  so  soft  and  tender 
are  their  whisperings ;  the  ranger  on  the  other  side 
looking  on  in  silence;  while  the  great  lake  just  down 
the  bluff  lies  rippleless  and  beautiful  in  the  moon- 
light of  a  perfect  night. 

It  is  fifteen  miles  or  more  to  the  crowning  glory  of 
this  wonder-land,  the  Great  Gorge  of  the  Yellowstone. 
We  are  on  horseback  now,  and  may  take  the  trail, 
which  carries  us  through  denser  woods  and  over  higher 
summits  than  the  wagon  road,  with  slighter  chance 
of  disturbance  of  the  solitude  in  which  we  wish  to 
worship  in  this  fair  temple.  We  have  stood  in  vesti- 
bule and  aisle,  but  now  we  are  approaching  the  altar 
where  culminates  the  glory  of  the  holy  place.  Most 
leisurely  we  journey  in  the  winding  paths,  the  air 
fragrant  with  the  distillations  of  the  pines,  with 
glimpses  of  the  river  from  the  hills,  and  little  fords 
from  which  we  drink,  bending  from  our  saddles ;  a 
sulphur  mountain  is  beside  the  road,  and  there  are 
pleasant  pasture  paths  which  seem  like  the  sunny 
slopes  of  the  fjamiliar  New  England  hills.  We  see 
no  human  being  on  the  way,  nor  any  cattle  feeding ; 
no  living  thing,  except  in  one  of  the  great  streams 
whose  waters  touch  our  saddle-girths  great  pelicans 
stand  watching  us.  But  now  the  river  is  in  angry 
mood ;  in  great  waves  it  frets  and  storms  and  battles 
with  the  rocks  along  its  way ;  for  we  have  found  the 


8AUNTERINGS   IN   WONDER-LAND.  55 

rapids,  and  just  beyond  the  little  glen  set  round  with 
trees,  where  rises  the  smoke  of  our  encampment,  is 
the  Yellowstone's  Upper  Falls.  From  the  overtop- 
ping rock  we  may  look  down  a  hundred  feet  or  more 
into  the  great  chasm,  where  the  rainbow  lies  amid 
the  mist  There  are  stern  rocks  and  bowlders  here, 
which  might  appal  us  were  they  not  so  draperied 
with  moss ;  while  beyond,  out  of  the  mist  and  shad- 
ows, the  river  flows  laughingly  between  its  banks  of 
green. 

There  is  wanting  little  here  to  make  the  perfect 
picture,  for  the  rapids  are  above,  huge  rocks  mid- 
way in  the  stream  divide  the  waters,  and  savage  cliffs 
rise  up  on  either  side,  covered  with  such  decora- 
tions as  the  mist-fingers  have  placed  in  seam  and 
crevice. 

This  wonder-land  is  poor  in  legendary  lore,  for  the 
poet's  wand  has  not  yet  called  forth  the  stories  of  its 
past.  There  is,  however,  here  just  a  touch  of  tragedy  ; 
for  this  chasm  has  been  the  tomb  of  brave  men.  Not 
many  years  ago,  somewhere  in  this  region,  there  was 
an  outbreak  of  the  tribe  of  Crow  Indians.  The  set- 
tlers were  massacred ;  and  from  the  neighboring  forts 
the  troops  came  in  to  find  atonement  for  the  crime.  A 
little  band  of  braves,  close  pressed,  came  up  the  val- 
ley, and,  weary  with  their  flight,  finding  no  rest  nor 
hope  of  safety,  halted  here,  resolved  to  die  in  good, 
brave  fashion.  They  made  a  raft  of  fallen  trees,  gath- 


56  RAMBLES   OVERLAND. 

ering  them  from  the  woods  close  by,  and  tying  them 
together  with  wicker-work  of  branch  and  vine, 
brought  it  to  the  river,  just  on  the  rapids'  edge  above 
the  falls.  The  pursuing  soldiers  came,  with  swift 
advancings,  through  the  woods,  and  when  on  the  little 
cliff  above  they  halted  to  fire  upon  the  fugitives, 
the  rude  raft  was  launched,  bearing  its  savage  freight 
The  soldiers  fired  upon  the  fated  crew ;  the  answering 
shot  went  back,  the  raft  trembled  on  the  brink,  and 
then  plunged  into  the  abyss  with  dying  brave  and 
living  warrior. 

Not  quite  a  mile  beyond,  with  pleasant  path  be- 
tween, over  bridge  of  corduroy,  in  sight  of  cascade 
and  grotto  pools,  we  descend  to  the  Lower  Falls.  We 
will  go  slowly  down,  because  we  have  caught  glimpse 
of  the  wonder-gorge,  and  cannot,  without  a  pang  of 
sadness,  give  up  our  loyalty  to  the  falls  behind,  to 
which,  not  half  an  hour  ago,  we  gave  our  heart. 

We  have  seen  the  upper  walls  of  the  great  chasm, 
bright  like  the  western  sky  at  -close  of  day,  but  we 
will  watch  the  descending  path,  and  shut  out  the 
vision,  till  now  we  stand  upon  the  platform  at  the 
falls,  and  raise  our  eyes  to  such  a  scene  as  no  other 
spot  on  earth  can  give.  Language  is  but  a  clumsy 
thing  with  which  to  paint  the  glories  of  this  wonder- 
place.  The  richest  pigments  of  artists  of  largest 
fame  have  failed ;  and  while  men  have  smiled  at  the 
flaming  canvas,  and  said,  "It  is  impossible,"  the 


BAUNTERINGS  IN  WONDEE-LAND.  57 

baffled  painter  has  grieved  that  his  poor  brush  had 
failed  to  tell  half  the  story  of  this  exceeding  loveli- 
ness. Behind  us,  as  we  stand  upon  the  platform,  are 
the  quiet  woods;  the  river  narrows  just  above  to 
eighty  feet,  and  then  with  waters  strangely  green 
they  plunge  three  hundred  feet  into  the  awful  gulf. 
Niagara  may  leap  twice  as  far  as  now,  and  hardly 
touch  the  stream  below ;  and  while  there  is  not  Niag- 
ara's majesty,  and  only  slightest  tithe  of  its  massive 
volume,  yet  where  does  water  ever  fall  with  such 
incomparable  loveliness  as  here  ?  With  steady  hand 
clinging  to  the  platform's  rail,  we  will  look  down ;  later 
on,  from  yonder  peak,  we  will  lie  for  hours  in  the  sun, 
and  yield  ourselves  to  the  fascinations  of  this  royal 
scene. 

A  great  wall  rises  beside  the  falls  ;  on  the  yonder 
side  it  seems  to  be  of  porphyry, — so  is  it  colored, 
-but  there  is  rare  tenderness  of  hue,  as  though 
a  rime  spread  over  it;  and  there  are  touches,  too, 
of  softer  nature  in  fern  and  moss,  with  little  edg- 
ings of  green  enamel  such  as  Nature  loves  to  lay 
around  the  sharp  edges  of  crack  and  seam.  In  great, 
majestic,  even  poise  the  water,  all  unbroken,  flows 
out  into  the  air,  gathering  soon  in  little  folds  of  lace- 
like  streams,  then  breaking  into  mist  before  it  changes 
into  smoke  three  hundred  feet  below. 

There  are  sloping  ledges  down  where  the  fall 
changes  to  a  river,  and  behind  the  fall  there  are 


58  RAMBLES   OVERLAND. 

rocks  curiously  covered  with  dark  grasses,  as  though 
draperied  in  a  widow's  weeds ;  and  there  are  others 
green  with  moss,  and  stones  uncovered,  save  where 
the  mist  condenses  and  the  little  rivulets  run  down. 
Half-way  up,  just  where  the  volume  of  the  water 
shades  thinner  toward  the  sides,  the  water  breaks 
into  rocket-like  jets;  beside  the  walls  it  is  a  mist- 
torrent,  farther  on  a  wreath  of  smoke,  while  from  other 
points  of  vision  the  water  seems  like  angels  falling 
down,  trailing  veils  of  mist.  Never  did  waterfall 
pour  itself  into  such  royal  vessel ;  for  the  great  gorge, 
rising  from  the  river  good  two  thousand  feet,  winds 
down  eight  miles  or  more. 

Strip  this  wonder-gorge  of  all  these  banners  that 
cover  it ;  change  it  into  bare  walls  of  stone,  walling  in 
the  silver  ribbon  at  its  base,  and  it  is  still  marvellous ; 
for  on  the  'eastern  side  it  rises  up  in  steep  ascent, 
ridged  with  great  protruding  veins,  shaped  into  stern 
promontory  and  projecting  walls,  with  little  hint  of  any 
pitying  earth  upon  it,  till  up  against  the  sky  it  breaks 
into  woods  and  fields  running  back  into  the  hills. 

The  western  wall  is  made  of  softer  stuff,  and  snows 
and  torrents  —  the  hungry  teeth  of  winter  frosts  — 
have  sculptured  here  such  marvels  as  only  those  whose 
eye  has  seen  will  believe  exist.  Great  columns,  such 
as  Titans  might  erect  to  celebrate  victories,  are  here, 
and  castles  such  as  crown  the  Khine,  and  gateways 
fit  to  sentinel  the  gardens  of  the  gods ;  peaks  and 


SAUNTERINGS   IN   WONDER-LAND.  59 

towers,  buttresses  and  bastions,  nigged  fortress,  Gothic 
arches,  and  cathedral  spires,  —  such  would  be  the 
gorge  if  we  had  no  eye  to  see  the  outward  glory- 
spread  on  this  anatomy  of  rock. 

But  the  prism  does  not  more  dissolve  the  sun  than 
do  the  walls  catch  and  separate  its  glory.  All  the 
color  which  the  sun  in  the  ages  has  poured  into  the 
earth  has  been  forced  into  these  cliffs  by  the  alchemy 
of  the  hot  springs  which  make  this  wonder-land.  The 
prevailing  tint  is  yellow,  but  shading  into  lemon, 
orange,  salmon,  with  great  bands  of  white,  chang- 
ing by  invisible  transitions  to  softer  shades  of  rose 
and  pink.  Far  down  the  gorge  there  are  great 
blotches  of  red  and  scarlet,  jutting  cliffs  of  cinnabar, 
with  rare  background  of  such  rich  yellow  as  the 
sinter  makes.  Such  for  eight  miles  is  the  gorge, 
broken  into  every  variety  of  contour,  bearing  its 
silver  river  down  with  many  windings,  rising  up  in 
most  majestic  sweep,  and  so  rich  in  its  transcendent 
colorings,  that  one  might  feel  that  a  rainbow  spread- 
ing its  arch  had  been  shattered  here,  and  left  its  colors 
on  the  cliffs,  or  that  this  is  some  old  Moorish  city 
decorated  for  a  fe"te. 

There  are  innumerable  points  of  observation  from 
these  great  projecting  cliffs ;  each  one  reveals  a 
changing  picture ;  the  path  winds  in  and  out,  skirt- 
ing the  chasm,  which  drops  down  at  times  in  sheer 
descent,  and  again  slopes  so  gently  that  the  rocks 


60  EAMBLES   OVERLAND. 

we  roll  go  winding  on  the  descending  road  for  a  good 
thousand  feet  before  they  find  the  precipice.  Some 
half  a  mile  down  the  gorge,  just  where  the  eye  sees 
the  falls  as  a  noiseless  sheet  of  spray,  looking  from 
the  summit  of  the  cliff,  at  least  five  hundred  feet 
below,  there  stands  a  great  monument,  as  solitary  as 
Stylites'  Pillar.  On  the  summit  of  it,  covering  all  its 
little  surface,  is  an  eagle's  nest,  made  of  coarsely 
braided  branches ;  and  all  day  long  the  great  eagle 
soars  over  the  gorge,  making  the  solitude  even  more 
complete. 

We  have  great  desire  to  descend  into  the  canon, 
and  from  the  river's  brink  look  up.  Nowhere  do 
we  find  a  place  where  it  seems  possible  that  human 
foot  can  find  safe  passage.  But  at  last  we  find  a 
watercourse,  whose  way  we  can  seem  to  trace  even 
to  the  river,  although  we  know  that  the  lower  space 
may  be  so  foreshortened  that  the  little  gaps  far  be- 
low may  perhaps  be  great  impassable  reaches.  With 
heavy  clamberings  over  rock  and  bowlder  we  descend, 
until,  finding  every  step  fatiguing,  we  rise  on  the 
brook's  wall,  which  goes  down  in  a  kind  of  ridge  with 
somewhat  gentle  slope.  We  will  go  on  by  this  until 
it  terminates  in  the  great  Cinnabar  Tower,  which  is 
one  of  the  famous  things  within  the  gorge,  and  then 
we  will  descend  its  side  into  the  stream  again,  and 
so  go  downward  to  the  river.  But  the  wall  grows 
narrow,  until,  between  us  and  the  widening  rock 


SAUNTERINGS  IN   WONDEB-LAND.  61 

•which  leads  on  to  the  tower,  there  is  only  a  narrow 
ridge  not  half  a  dozen  feet  in  width.  There  is  ample 
space  for  walking,  if  only  the  sloping  walls  did  not  de- 
scend so  far,  and  we  have  no  surety  of  steady  nerves  to 
keep  us  on  the  track ;  so,  commencing  back,  we  run 
across.  We  have  come  thus  to  the  great  cliff,  brilliant- 
hued,  square,  massive,  like  some  old  mediaeval  fortress, 
and,  climbing  up  with  perilous  toiling,  we  look  down 
from  its  summit  into  the  fearful  chasm.  Coming  back 
a  little,  we  descend  into  the  bed  of  the  brook,  which 
we  will  follow  to  the  river.  The  descent  is  hard ;  for 
the  soil  is  only  shaly  rock,  with  only  such  security 
as  roots  of  stunted  trees,  long  dead,  can  give.  We 
reach  the  stream,  now  dry  in  the  summer's  drought, 
cross  over,  when,  lo !  we  find  the  river's  course  ter- 
minates in  a  precipice,  so  steep,  that  we  can  see  no 
line  of  wall,  so  deep,  that  the  river  there  seems 
almost  as  indistinct  as  from  the  summit  yonder.  We 
are  not  sorry,  for  the  way  is  long  behind  us  to  retrace, 
and  already  the  shadows  gather  in  the  gorge;  but 
such  is  the  fatal  curiosity  of  man,  that  we  desire 
to  go  at  least  to  the  very  verge  of  the  precipice, 
to  see  how  far  indeed  the  walls  descend.  We  go 
with  cautious  clingings,  until  we  are  at  the  brink, 
just  where  the  sloping  bank  goes  downward  to  the 


There  are  three  of  us,  and  the  most  adventurous 
one,  lying  half-extended  on  the  sloping  bank,  seeks 


62  RAMBLES   OVERLAND. 

to  let  himself  down  a  little  nearer,  when  suddenly 
he  feels  the  shaly  mass  slide  with  him  towards  the 
gulf  of  horrors.  He  stretches  out  his  hands,  but  the 
soil  he  clutches  is  in  motion,  and  only  when  in  an- 
other moment  he  must  plunge  over  the  fearful  preci- 
pice does  the  moving  mass  stop  its  motion.  So  near 
is  he  to  the  brink,  that  his  staff  falls  over  from  his 
grasp,  and  with  bleeding  hands  he  crawls  back  to 
^safety. 

We  have  slight  heart  now  to  continue  exploration ; 
with  painful  effort  we  gain  the  summit,  trying,  only 
with  ill  success,  to  laugh  away  remembrance  of  the 
peril  we  have  passed.  But  at  night  in  our  little 
camp  beside  the  rapids  more  than  once  we  have 
vision  of  the  towering  cliff,  and  in  our  broken  dreams 
feel  the  motion  of  the  treacherous  soil  bearing  us 
silently  over  the  precipice  into  the  gulf  of  death. 


A  FIFTY-MILE   WALK. 


Pacing  through  the  forest, 
Chewing  the  food  of  sweet  and  bitter  fancy. 

Ad  You  LIKE  IT. 


CHAPTER  IV. 

A  FIFTY-MILE  WALK. 

rriHERE  is  no  road  from  the  Lower  Falls  to  the 
-•-  Mammoth  Hot  Springs  except  the  one  over 
which  we  have  travelled.  There  is,  however,  a  trail 
passable  for  foot  travellers  and  saddle  horses ;  and  as 
there  are  many  attractions  along  the  way,  the  three 
younger  members  of  the  party  conclude  to  take  this 
trail,  and  meet  the  outfit  on  the  third  day  at  the 
springs,  fifty  miles  away.  We  have  brought  saddles 
for  our  leaders  for  just  this  trip,  and  with  the  light- 
ened load  Toot  tells  us  that  he  can  make  his  time 
with  the  wheelers  only.  As  one  at  best  must  walk, 
we  conclude  to  make  the  trip  on  foot 

The  nights  are  severely  cold  in  these  high  latitudes, 
and  without  the  shelter  of  a  tent  we  shall  have  good 
need  of  covering ;  so  in  the  preparations  for  the  jour- 
ney each  takes  a  pair  of  blankets,  with  overcoat  and 
gossamer,  all  deftly  wrapped  around  the  canned  pro- 
visions that  shall  feed  us.  Even  a  pair  of  blankets 
and  an  overcoat  make  a  fair- sized  pack  for  a  three 
days'  summer  march  ;  but  add  to  this  several  solid 

6 


66  RAMBLES   OVERLAND. 

cans  of  provender,  and  it  is  not  wonderful  that  at  the 
start  it  pulls  a  little  heavy  on  the  straps,  and  before 
the  walk  is  ended  it  weighs  a  ton  at  least. 

Just  above  the  Lower  Falls  the  trail  leads  off, 
passing  over  pleasant  hills,  into  the  surprising  park- 
like  pastures  which  so  abound  in  this  wonder-region. 
The  day  is  one  of  the  rare  days  which  sometimes  in 
New  England  come  in  early  autumn,  when  the  air  is 
balminess  itself,  and  every  leaf  stands  outlined  in 
the  sun.  We  stop  for  dinner  at  a  pleasant  brook, 
and,  with  such  elation  as  children  have,  kindle  our  fire 
beside  the  stream  and  undo  our  packs.  We  find,  with 
consternation,  that  we  are  wretchedly  provisioned. 
In  the  hurry  of  our  start  each  has  selected  what  he 
deems  his  proportion  of  the  outfit  for  the  walk, 
and  so,  when  our  elaborately  decorated  cans  are  placed 
in  line,  we  find  that  every  one  of  us  has  chosen  the 
"  Boston  Baked  Beans  "  with  which  our  outfit  was 
liberally  supplied.  A  solitary  can  of  oysters  alone 
varies  the  eternal  monotony  of  beans,  while  the  crack- 
ers, which  at  the  start  had  filled  the  pockets  of  our 
coats,  had  been  nibbled  on  the  way,  and,  with  only 
a  slight  residue  of  powdery  crumbs,  are  gone. 

A  little  piece  of  bacon,  which  somehow  stews  it- 
self away  into  the  blackest,  crimpiest  kind  of  sub- 
stance, is  the  only  meat  we  have  provided ;  while  the 
package  that  contains  the  tea  we  bring  has  broken  in 
our  pockets,  in  the  exigencies  of  the  morning  walk, 


A.  FIFTY-MILE  WALK.  67 

giving,  in  the  subsequent  stewings  of  the  journey, 
a  nondescript  decoction  of  oolong,  cracker-dust,  and 
the  frayed  shoddy  nap  of  our  pocket  linings.  We 
have  many  friends  in  Boston.  We  have  lived  with- 
in sight  of  its  gilded  dome,  and  have  often  mused 
beside  the  Frog- Pond  of  its  Common.  We  have  never 
made  invidious  remarks  about  its  crooked  streets, 
sneered  at  its  institutions,  believed  that  a  Boston  na- 
tive is  simply  "  the  east  wind  made  flesh,"  nor  cher- 
ished the  heresy  that  one  born  in  Boston  has  any 
need  to  be  born  again.  But  when  we  see  here  upon 
the  grass  beans  to  right  of  us,  beans  to  left  of  us, 
and  think  that  for  two  days  and  more  we  must  feed 
absolutely  on  this  plebeian  diet,  our  hearts  sink,  and 
our  tongue  would  keep  unwonted  silence  should  all 
the  world  rise  to  defame  the  "  Modern  Athens  "  1 

We  have  no  seasoning  of  any  kind,  nor  spoon,  nor 
knife, —  nothing  but  unseasoned  beans  to  be  eaten  with 
a  wooden  spoon.  A  bean  is  a  kind  of  delusive  thing,  — 
it  fills,  but  does  not  satisfy  ;  and  this  eating  from  the 
original  package  with  a  cedar-tasting  wooden  spoon, 
sweetening  the  unsavory  meal  with  weak  libations  of 
a  kind  of  crackery,  pocket-lining  flavored  liquid,  with 
no  hint  of  sugar,  milk,  or  any  sweet  disguisings,  is 
getting  back  to  nature  to  a  degree  we  never  have 
aspired  to. 

Filled,  but  not  fed,  we  push  on.  The  trail  increases 
in  the  beauty  through  which  it  leads  us.  We  are  on 


68  RAMBLES  OVERLAND. 

the  flanks  of  Dunraven  Mountain,  now  going  upward 
through  pleasant  woods.  Long  vistas  open,  and  in 
the  sun  the  perfect  peaks  stand  clear  and  beautiful 

The  trees  run  upward  farther  than  we  have  ever  seen 
on  the  New  England  mountains,  and  so  broad  of 
branch  are  they,  that  it  seems  as  if  an  orchard  from  a 
New  England  farm  had  by  some  magic  been  hung  here 
beneath  the  snows.  There  are  such  resting-places  be- 
side the  little  fords  as  the  fairies  might  have  chosen 
for  their  bathing-places,  and  for  great  spaces  the  trail 
winds  through  fields  of  flowers  brilliant  with  the 
rich  colorings  of  this  rare  region.  The  wild  mustard 
changes  the  pasture  slope  into  a  field  of  the  cloth  of 
gold,  with  buttercups  where  the  grass  is  closer  woven, 
and  blue  gentians  too,  and  in  the  woods  delicate 
sprays  of  columbine  and  the  rare  Indian  Plume, 
changing  its  hues  from  deep  rich  carmine  to  ver- 
milion and  magenta. 

So  we  toil  upward,  the  heavy  packs  borne  easily 
because  of  the  glory  that  lies  along  the  way.  Wash- 
burn  has  been  in  sight  all  through  the  day,  separated 
from  the  trail  by  a  foot-hill,  itself  a  mountain.  Our 
trail  should  lead  over  the  summit  of  Mount  Wash- 
burn,  and  when  we  find  that  the  crest  of  the  Divide  is 
passed  and  we  are  leaving  the  mountain  behind,  we 
know  that  we  have  missed  the  diverging  path.  We 
go  back  a  mile  at  least ;  but  we  do  not  find  it,  and 
forgetting  that  these  mountains  are  not  like  the  moun- 


A  FIFTY-MILE  WALK.  69 

tains  we  have  been  wont  to  climb,  without  longer 
searching  for  the  trail  we  commence  the  ascent  forth- 
with, making  our  own  patli  as  we  go  up.  But  we  have 
forgotten  the  weight  of  our  heavy  packs  and  the  ex- 
ceeding rarity  of  the  air  upon  these  heights.  For 
two  hours  at  least  we  climb  the  foot-hill,  with  in- 
finite weariness,  only  to  find  when  on  the  summit, 
though  we  have  crossed  great  drifts  of  snow,  that  we 
are  at  least  two  thousand  feet  below  the  peak  of 
Washburn,  and  must  descend  into  the  valley  a  thou- 
sand feet  before  we  can  begin  the  ascent.  The  day 
is  drawing  on,  and  we  are  not  fresh  as  in  the  morn- 
ing ;  but  there  is  the  summit  we  have  come  to  see,  and 
see  it  we  must  before  the  darkness  comes. 

We  rest  long  in  the  little  valley  far  below.  Arca- 
dia never  had  sweeter  place  than  this,  with  grass  so 
green,  and  little  streams  so  bright  and  musical,  and 
such  infinite  sunniness,  with  no  trace  that  ever  hu- 
man foot  before  had  found  its  loveliness. 

The  summit  seems  miles  away,  and  the  ascent  is 
more  than  steep.  To  simply  raise  ourselves  to  such 
a  height  would  have  appalled  us  once,  but  now  we 
must  carry  these  heavy  packs,  and  make  the  journey 
in  an  atmosphere  so  rare  that  simple  breathing  is 
work  enough. 

At  the  very  start,  —  for  we  are  already  eight  thou- 
sand feet  above  the  level  of  the  sea,  —  our  stages  of 
progress  are  but  brief ;  and  as  we  climb,  shorter  and 


70  KAMBLES   OVEELAND. 

shorter  are  the  journeys,  until  towards  the  summit, 
no  matter  how  thoroughly  we  are  rested,  only  twenty 
steps  are  needed  to  compel  us  to  stop,  panting,  breath- 
less, utterly  exhausted,  so  tired  that  we  dare  not  sit 
lest  we  may  not  be  able  to  raise  again  the  burden  of 
our  packs.  For  two  hours  we  thus  climb  ;  conversa- 
tion long  since  has  ceased,  for  we  have  little  breath  to 
spare,  and  there  is  that  semi-dizziness  that  comes 
with  such  exertions.  Each  one  seeks  the  way  that 
seems  the  easiest,  and  when  we  reach  the  narrow 
ridge  we  are  far  apart.  Not  yet  is  the  summit 
found.  There,  five  hundred  feet  above  us,  with 
yawning  precipices  on  either  side,  stands  the  goal 
of  our  desires,  with  narrow,  tortuous  way  between, 
rising  above  great  gulfs  of  blackness  and  leading  on 
round  bowlders  scarred  with  many  storms.  There  is 
need  of  diligence  of  eye  and  foot,  for  we  must  swing 
ourselves  around  these  cliff-like  points,  with  only  such 
protection  as  strong  arms  can  get  clinging  to  crack 
and  crevice,  our  heavy  packs  hanging  over  awful 
chasms,  seeking  to  pull  us  down  to  the  great  gulfs  a 
thousand  feet  below.  Even  now  we  wonder  whether 
it  be  possible  to  gain  the  summit  and  go  downward  to 
the  timber  line  for  camp  before  the  darkness  comes, 
and  whether  we  shall  not  stop  right  here  beneath 
the  little  shelter  of  the  summit,  and  make  our  camp- 
fire  of  the  bleached  branches  of  the  stunted  firs,  find- 
ing water  in  the  melted  snows.  But  we  have  heavy 


A.   FIFTY-MILE   WALK.  71 

work  before  us  on  the  morrow,  and  must  have  no 
dalliance  here ;  and  so,  tightening  strap  and  pack,  we 
commence  the  final  climb.  It  is  a  treacherous  path, 
and  only  that  no  wind  is  blowing,  and  that  we  watch 
with  utmost  wariness  each  advancing  step,  do  we 
safely  pass  over  shaly  rock,  and  around  these  cliffs, 
daring  not  for  one  brief  moment  to  look  downward, 
lest,  with  weakened  nerve,  foot  and  hand  lose  their 
cunning  grasp,  and  we  go  downward  with  our  packs 
to  such  destination  as  we  know  not  of.  Here,  then, 
we  are  at  last  upon  the  summit,  with  the  Arcadian 
valley  in  the  shadows  far  below,  and  the  great  clouds 
marching  over  the  vast  timber  belts, —  perched,  pack 
and  all,  upon  the  topmost  stone  of  the  monument  of 
rock,  with  the  old  mountain  conquered  at  our  feet 

It  is  a  barren  victory,  for  though  we  are  ten  thou- 
sand feet  and  more  above  the  sea,  and  though  the 
guide-books  tell  us  of  the  strange  emotions  that  we 
ought  to  cherish,  and  though  other  visitors  riding 
here  by  some  trail  to  us  unknown  have  made  the 
record  that  there  is  nowhere  in  the  world  view  so 
beautiful  and  majestic,  still  it  is  not  so  wonderful  as 
we  had  hoped,  nor  have  we  large  usury  of  payment 
for  the  hardest  day's  work  we  have  ever  had  in  many 
years  of  mountain  climbing. 

The  vision  sweeps  the  circle  of  a  hundred  miles 
or  more ;  great  mountains,  timber-mantled  and  snow- 
crowned,  encircle  us  ;  the  lower  hills  are  draperied 


72  RAMBLES   OVERLAND. 

with  forests  woven  with  velvet  softness ;  the  pastures 
are  green  and  lustrous,  like  the  English  lawns ;  the 
great  lake  lies  like  a  jewel  southward  in  the  verdure ; 
and  yonder  crest  of  color  is  the  marvel-gorge  lifting 
its  banners  above  the  Yellowstone,  started  on  its 
journey  of  six  thousand  miles  to  the  Gulf  of  Mexico. 
But  there  are  other  mountains  where  peaks  as 
sharp  and  beautiful  as  these  are  visible ;  and  this 
foliage  is  not  so  rare  as  the  vestiture  of  Mount  Carter, 
seen  from  Tuckerman's  Ravine ;  nor  are  these  pastures 
green,  like  the  Conway  meadows  from  old  Kearsarge ; 
nor  is  the  desolation  of  this  summit,  albeit  its  scars 
are  yet  flaming  red  all  over  us,  so  grimly  savage  as 
Chocorua's  peak;  while  lake  and  gorge,  unless  our 
weariness  has  somewhat  robbed  the  eye  of  seeing, 
are  not  from  this  high  mount  of  vision  the  marvels 
that  they  seemed,  when  we  stood  before  them  and 
saw,  with  slight  interval  of  space,  the  rare  beauties 
which  are  their  heritage.  There  is  a  weirdness  here, 
for  the  solitude  is  absolute.  These  vapor  columns 
that  we  see  are  not  the  smoke  of  farmers'  cottages,  but 
the  steamings  of  the  springs.  The  lake  beyond  has  no 
keel  to  vex  it ;  there  is  no  trace  of  village,  nor  human 
soul,  perhaps  for  miles  beneath  us ;  and  this  is  a 
weird  land  of  geysers,  mineral  mountains,  and  chasms 
that  terrify  the  eye.  This  region  eastward  is  the  Hoo- 
doo land,  with  forests  of  stone,  agatized  trees,  strange 
monsters  stone- imprisoned,  —  a  goblin  land,  carved 


A   FIFTY-MILE  WALK.          .  73 

into  majestic  weirdness  by  elements  working  in  the  sol- 
itude for  ages.  There  is  tragic  interest  here ;  for  over 
these  hills  Evarts,  a  tourist,  wandered,  lost  for  weeks, 
feeding  upon  roots  and  weeds,  until  at  last,  a  skeleton, 
crazed  with  suffering,  he  was  rescued, — the  published 
tale  of  his  long  wanderings  not  excelled  in  vividness 
by  any  tile  of  adventure  in  the  English  tongue. 

But  the  night  comes  on,  and  we  must  travel  long 
before  we  reach  a  camping  place.  The  descent  is 
easy,  our  heavy  packs  but  lightly  felt.  The  peaks 
grow  purple  as  we  go  down,  and  the  sun  attends  us 
with  the  beacon  fires  it  kindles  on  the  peaks.  Great 
drifts  of  snow  are  along  the  way,  and  for  two  hundred 
feet  we  slide  downwards  as  we  used  to  do  in  boy- 
hood ;  and  we  slake  our  thirst  from  glacier  pools,  and 
over  the  hills,  in  the  trail  we  now  have  found,  down- 
ward dropping  into  the  darker  shadows,  we  push  on 
for  the  timber  where  we  shall  make  our  camp. 

The  hills  are  in  terrace-like  descendings  here,  and, 
though  we  hasten  on  for  miles,  the  elusive  forests  are 
beyond  us  still.  It  is  growing  dark,  and  there  is  no 
prospect  of  reaching  shelter  before  dense  darkness 
comes ;  our  only  hope  is  to  go  down  a  thousand  feet 
to  the  creek  below  and  make  our  camp,  although 
upon  the  morrow  we  must  make  weary  climb  again 
backward  to  the  trail.  It  takes  some  Christian  grace 
to  thus  add,  without  complaining,  a  useless  journey  to 
our  pilgrimage ;  and  the  way  is  rough,  thick-set  with 


74  RAMBLES   OVERLAND. 

pitfalls,  with  yawning  holes  that  wrench  the  wearied 
muscles.  The  valley  of  the  brook  is  reached,  but  it  is 
a  bog,  with  fallen  timber  and  tangled  thickets  running 
into  marsh ;  the  water  lying  here  in  brackish  pools, 
as  though  snakes  and  crawling  vipers  might  be  en- 
camped among  them.  We  have  been  ankle-deep  not 
once  but  many  times  in  the  treacherous  bog.  We  are 
parched  with  thirst,  faint  with  weariness  and  hunger, 
and  not  yet  can  we  tell  that,  even  if  we  can  find  foot- 
hold between  the  alder  bushes  there,  we  shall  find  a 
running  stream.  We  separate  and  search,  fearing 
each  step  in  the  advancing  darkness,  lest  we  may  be 
engulfed.  But  the  stream  is  found,  —  cool,  limpid, 
albeit  its  banks  are  but  blackened  peat ;  on  the  other 
side  the  ground  is  hard,  rising  toward  the  mountains  ; 
forty  feet  away  we  drop  our  packs  and  hasten  to 
make  our  fire,  that  we  may  see  what  place  we  have 
for  the  sleeping  of  the  night.  Hardly  a  moment 
after  the  fire  is  crackling,  made  of  grass  and  branches, 
and  at  once  we  start  backward  to  the  brook  for  water. 
But  so  has  the  darkness  come,  that  we  cannot  find 
our  way,  and  only  by  a  torch  from  the  fire  do  we 
reach  the  stream,  over  which  we  have  come  scarcely 
five  minutes  before. 

A  confession  of  self-humiliation  is  not  a  pleasant 
thing,  and  were  we  not  an  honest  chronicler,  we 
would  fain  let  the  darkness  of  our  camp  hide  the 
sufferings  of  a  memorable  night.  We  are  famished 


A  FIFTY-MILE  WALK.  75 

pilgrims;  eight  hours  ago,  we  ate  our  unseasoned 
beans,  and  the  toil  of  half  a  lifetime  has  happened 
since.  And  now  here  beside  the  bog,  with  only  faint 
hope  that  the  tangled  grass  is  not  the  hiding-place  of 
snakes,  knowing  not  where  we  are,  or  what  things 
are  close  beside  us,  we  sit  down  to  satisfy  exhausted 
nature  with  a  bean.  The  can-opener  is  gone,  and 
with  frail  penknife  must  we  open  the  solitary  can  of 
oysters  that  we  have.  We  can  only  half  warm  the 
liquid,  and  then  with  pronged  sticks  we  fish  out  the 
mollusks,  drinking  the  liquid  as  the  "  loving-cup  "  is 
drained  by  passing  from  guest  to  guest,  the  sharp 
edges  of  the  can  cutting  us,  and  the  liquid,  though 
most  nourishing,  having  unpalatable  flavor  of  verdi- 
gris, with  little  bits  of  solder  held  in  only  half  solu- 
tion. We  fry  the  bacon,  holding  it  against  the  coals 
upon  a  stick ;  but  it  sizzles  itself  away,  it  catches  fire, 
the  toasting-fork  is  involved  in  the  conflagration,  and 
there  is  left  only  a  charred  ember,  so  curled  around 
the  stick  that  we  cannot  in  the  eating  easily  decide 
where  the  stick  begins  and  the  bacon  ends.  We  essay 
to  make  some  tea,  and  in  the  emptied  oyster-can,  only 
half  rinsed,  we  fear,  we  place  half  a  handful  of  the 
conglomerate  in  our  pocket,  making  a  draught  com- 
pared with  which  the  hemlock  draught  of  Socrates 
must  have  been  as  the  very  nectar  of  the  gods.  We 
have  no  heart  to  tell  of  the  course  that  followed. 
The  bean,  though  baked  in  Boston,  is  not  a  fruit  that 


76  RAMBLES   OVERLAND. 

epicures  might  choose  for  a  dessert,  but  we  are  not 
encamped  in  the  vicinity  of  markets,  and  our  lar- 
der now  contains  no  other  thing  than  these  same 
beans. 

Guided  by  such  light  as  the  camp-fire  gives,  we 
pile  the  wood  high  for  the  night  and  make  promises 
of  watchfulness ;  then  wrapping  blankets  round,  with 
the  great  deep  blackness  over  us,  and  such  movement 
in  the  air  as  sounds  like  the  whisperings  of  ghosts, 
we  close  our  eyes  to  such  sleep  as  our  weariness  may 
woo.  The  fire  burns  brightly  for  a  while,  the  dried 
grass  catching  and  causing  us  not  once  but  many 
times  to  rise  and  beat  out  the  spreading  flames ;  but 
the  fire  is  fed  only  with  the  substanceless  cotton- 
wood,  and  long  before  the  morning  dies  to  ashes. 
The  great  white  frost  comes  on,  and  when  we  wake, 
long  after  the  sun  is  up,  we  find  the  crystal  rime 
spread  over  us,  and  cease  to  wonder  why  it  is  that 
we  have  shivered  through  the  night.  The  break- 
fast is  severely  plain.  Another  can  of  the  detested 
beans  is  opened,  and  nature  is  again  insulted,  not 
satisfied. 

We  have  never  had  repugnance  to  the  ongoing  of 
our  life,  and  have  no  ambition  now  to  add  to  the 
legendary  interest  of  the  Washburn  trial  by  leaving 
our  skeleton  here  to  adorn  a  moral  or  garnish  a  tour- 
ist's tale.  But  now  we  refuse  to  again  put  the  de- 
tested cans  within  our  pack,  and  vow  most  solemnly 


A  FIFTY-MILE   WALK.  77 

that  we  will  not  eat  another  bean  though  we  may 
die  upon  the  journey,  considering  death  a  pleasant 
fate  compared  with  such  repast 

Upward,  with  heavy  tugging  at  our  packs,  onward 
five  miles  or  more,  and  we  come  to  the  great  open 
pasture  space,  shaded  with  mammoth  pines,  where 
the  trail  divides  to  go  down  and  round  the  cliff,  up- 
ward to  Tower  Falls.  The  path  is  tortuous,  but  great 
basaltic  cjifls  of  sulphur  are  in  sight,  just  where 
Tower  Creek  joins  the  Yellowstone.  The  way  now 
is  beside  the  stream,  over  such  bowlders  as  the  great 
cliffs  have  dropped.  But  the  stream  is  close  beside 
us,  fretting,  fighting  over  rock  and  jutting  point,  bat- 
tling its  way  onward  to  the  sea.  Great  towers,  shapely 
as  cathedral  spires,  rise  on  either  side,  with  slender 
fingers,  like  the  minarets  of  a  mosque,  strangely  col- 
ored, forming  royal  setting  for  the  water,  which,  from 
two  hundred  feet  above,  falls  into  the  boiling  chasm. 
The  surroundings  are  much  like  those  of  Minnehaha 
Falls,  only  here  is  greater  majesty.  It  is  a  mile  down- 
ward by  the  path,  while  if  we  can  but  climb  the  walls 
of  the  cafton,  we  shall  find  the  path  just  there  upon 
its  crest. 

We  begin  the  climb  of  four  hundred  feet  The 
wall  is  perpendicular  almost,  but  so  scarred  and 
broken  that  it  seems  not  difficult  to  find  holding 
place  for  hand  and  foot  We  are  soon  convinced 
that  it  is  a  fool's  folly,  but  our  blood  is  up,  and 


78  RAMBLES   OVERLAND. 

we  have  no  temper  for  defeat  by  a  little  wall  like 
this. 

Starting  together,  we  are  soon  separated,  each  work- 
ing on  by  different  lines ;  up  and  over  rocks,  clinging 
to  roots  of  trees  long  dead,  baffled  by  sheer  ascent  of 
smooth  ledge  and  rock,  retreating,  finding  new  paths, 
going  on  a  little  to  be  again  defeated,  pushing  up, 
confronting  obstacles,  balancing  the  conditions  of 
safety  in  going  up  or  back, —  so  for  two  hours,  at  least, 
we  wrestle  with  the  cliff;  almost  at  the  summit  once, 
we  must  go  back,  making  the  descent  with  peril  So 
onward,  with  every  muscle  tense  as  steel  and  every 
faculty  alert,  the  jagged  bowlders  waiting  for  us  down 
there  in  the  gulf,  and  the  pleasant  sky  above  beckon- 
ing, we  climb  with  painful  toil. 

At  last,  when  only  the  pasture  is  fifty  feet  above, 
we  come  to  a  projecting  cliff;  we  must  climb  over 
this  or  retrace  our  steps,  and  retreat  is  now  impos- 
sible. The  problem  is  a  study  while  clinging  to  the 
rocks  ;  but  standing  upon  utmost  tip  of  foot,  blindly 
groping  on  the  surface  of  the  rocky  shelf,  we  find  a 
dead  root,  and  testing  it  with  gradually  increasing 
power,  we  hazard  at  last  our  life  upon  its  strength. 
Swinging  clear,  with  no  other  hold  than  this,  we  climb 
upward  and  so  onward  to  the  summit,  to  lie  there,  with 
torn  garments  and  scarred  hands,  till  slowly  the  weary 
muscles  shall  be  rested  and  the  excited  nerves  become 
calm  again.  The  others  have  found  like  peril,  and 


A  FIFTY-MILE  WALK.  79 

half  through  the  tramping  of  the  afternoon  there  is 
little  said,  by  reason  of  remembrance  of  the  danger 
we  have  braved,  and  only  by  utmost  effort  been 
delivered  from. 

Downward  still  four  miles  or  more,  leaving  Jack 
Barronett's  bridge  above  us,  we  come  at  four  o'clock 
into  Pleasant  Valley,  in  sight  of  Yancy's  cabin,  the 
only  sign  of  habitation  we  have  seen  for  days.  No 
palace  ever  had  such  royal  look  as  this  "  shack  "  of 
logs  at  the  foot  of  the  six-mile  hill.  We  find  Yancy's 
hired  man  in  charge,  and  the  star-route  mail-carrier 
to  the  miner's  camp  beyond,  stopping  for  the  night. 
We  rest  upon  the  bunk  of  skins  while  these  men 
prepare  repast  Was  there  ever  such  kingly  feast  as 
this !  Steaks  of  antelope,  and  great  fritters  floating 
in  black  West  India  syrup,  and  potatoes  just  a  little 
soggy,  and  bread,  saleratus-hued ;  but,  oh  !  so  much 
better  than  the  beans  !  Never  before  did  we  eat  so 
long  with  no  increasing  sense  of  fulness.  After  ten 
minutes'  service  we  are  just  as  hungry  as  at  the  start, 
and  we  begin  to  fear,  perhaps,  that  the  old  story  of 
Munchausen's  horse,  who  drank  dry  the  river  because 
cut  off  just  behind  his  mouth,  might  be  finding  mod- 
ern repetition  in  these  three  pilgrims  seated  here  in 
Yancy's  shack. 

We  have  always  boasted  of  our  pedestrian  powers, 
but  when  we  see  the  hill  beyond  and  the  great  pack 
we  have  to  carry,  and  know  that  the  blessed  Toot 


80  RAMBLES   OVERLAND. 

must  be  met  upon  the  morrow  sixteen  miles  away, 
our  pride  of  walking  vanishes,  and  we  are  like  the 
old  French  bishop  who  used  to  say  of  worldly  com- 
forts, "  All,  all  is  vanity  except  a  carriage ! "  and  so  we 
vow  that  we  will  not  walk,  though  we  may  have  to 
give  our  kingdom  for  a  horse. 

Neither  the  carrier  nor  Yancy's  man  can  leave  the 
place  for  an  entire  day,  nor  spare  the  horses  for  us ; 
but  in  the  road  outside  a  shaggy-bearded  teamster 
with  a  load  of  ore  offers  to  sell,  for  fair  consideration, 
an  extra  horse  he  leads  behind.  We  are  ripe  for 
desperate  things,  and  as  we  pass  our  pack  and  see  the 
mighty  hill  beyond,  we  are  in  good  mood  for  any 
folly.  But  such  a  horse  we  never  before  put  eyes 
upon.  It  is  a  compliment  to  say  that  it  is  lame ; 
every  leg  is  out  of  shape,  corrugated  with  spavin, 
ringbone,  and  every  fungus  that  fastens  on  a  horse, 
with  only  one  poor  watery  eye,  and  such  demure  ab- 
jectness  as  we  have  never  seen  in  a  horse's  face  before. 
The  critical  mood  is  not  on  us,  for  we  are  in  sight  of 
both  pack  and  hill,  while  our  resting  has  revealed  the 
stiffness  of  our  limbs.  Did  the  horse  have  but  one 
good  leg,  we  would  surely  buy  him ;  but  there  is 
nothing  on  which  to  fasten  hope  of  help,  and  so  we 
say,  "Why,  man  alive,  we  don't  think  that  horse 
can  carry  himself  over  that  hill;"  and  the  miner 
answers,  "  I  know  he  can't,  and  that  is  why  I  want 
to  sell  him." 


A  FIFTY-MILE   WALK.  81 

We  charter  for  the  hill,  however,  Yancy's  horse 
for  the  packs,  and  mounted  on  the  star-route  beast, 
with  the  man  to  bring  them  back,  we  go  on.  Life 
seems  worth  living  once  again,  and  when  two  hours 
later  we  dismount,  we  are  fully  rested,  one  of  our 
companions  meantime  finding,  as  he  walks  beside 
Yancy's  man,  who  leads  the  pack-horse,  that  years 
before  they  had  been  students  together  in  a  univer- 
sity in  the  Empire  State. 

By  Black  Tail  Creek,  at  eleven  o'clock,  we  make 
our  camp,  sleeping  by  the  roadside  in  the  open  air, 
and  on  the  following  day,  by  pleasant  road  over  the 
grassy  plateaus  and  lava  beds  of  the  creek,  beside 
the  superbly  beautiful  falls  of  the  Gardiner  River,  in 
sight  of  mountains  now  familiar  to  us,  we  reach  our 
journey's  end  at  the  Mammoth  Hot  Springs,  the  place 
of  rendezvous,  where  we  are  to  meet  in  an  hour's 
time  the  outfit  left  by  us  three  days  ago.  While  we 
sit  on  the  ground,  with  back  against  a  workman's 
cabin,  reading  a  week-old  daily  we  have  borrowed, 
the  leaders  of  our  wagon  come  in  view ;  and  albeit 
he  is  no  Apollo,  we  make  confession  that  we  have 
never  seen  before  a  man  so  absolutely  beautiful 
as  that  same  Toot,  who  is  to  carry  us  out  of  wonder- 
land. 

Upon  the  morrow,  which  is  the  Sabbath,  we  are 
beyond  the  borders  of  the  Park.  At  the  doorway  of 
our  tent  at  Yankee  Jim's  our  driver  leaves  us  for  a 


82  RAMBLES  OVERLAND. 

moment,  wishing  to  go,  he  says,  to  morning  mass. 
We  hardly  think  he  means  it,  for,  as  we  pass  the 
saloon  soon  after,  from  beside  the  bar  within  we  hear 
the  voice  of  Toot  saying  to  a  fellow-driver, "  Let  us 
shake  for  drinks  ! " 


OVER  THE  ROCKIES   BY  STAGE. 


Thus  far  into  the  bowels  of  the  land 
Have  we  marc/ted  on  without  impediment. 

RICHARD  III. 


CHAPTER  V. 

OVER  THE  ROCKIES  BY  STAGE. 

HELENA  is  simply  the  old-time  Crab  Town  in 
a  later  stage  of  evolution. 

In  the  summer  of  1883  it  is  the  eastern  terminus 
of  the  Northern  Pacific  Eailroad  and  the  metropolis 
of  Montana.  It  lies  at  the  foot  of  the  Rocky  Moun- 
tains, on  the  first  slopings  of  the  fair  Prickly  Pear 
Valley.  The  washings  of  the  hills  have  made  this 
valley  strangely  fertile,  and  nowhere  have  we  seen 
more  thriving  farms  or  larger  crops  than  in  the  region 
around  this  thriving  capital.  The  city  is  built  upon 
the  tailings  of  a  mine,  for  the  Last  Chance  Gulch 
is  here,  and  from  the  territory  now  cut  into  city  lots 
and  household  yards  gold  to  the  value  of  ten  mil- 
lions of  dollars  has  been  taken.  There  is  no  poetry 
about  the  tailings  of  an  abandoned  mine ;  rocks  and 
gravel  intermingle,  and  barrenness  is  supreme.  In 
the  outskirts  of  the  town,  the  little  houses  placed  in 
the  midst  of  this  colorless  refuse  are  pitiful  in  their 
abject  desolation  ;  but  where  larger  wealth  has  built 
its  homes,  the  tiny  cottages  sit  in  little  lawns  of 


86  RAMBLES   OVERLAND. 

green,  and  patient  fingers  have  civilized  the  stony 
soil  into  fruitfulness. 

The  city  is  typical  of  this  Western  life.  Luxury 
and  rudeness  jostle  each  other ;  frontier  barbarisms 
mingle  with  the  latest  fashions  from  "  the  States ; " 
the  cowboy  and  the  drummer  ("time's  noblest  off- 
spring is  the  last ")  eat  at  the  same  table,  and  per- 
chance sleep  in  the  same  bed,  in  the  taverns  of  this 
overcrowded  city ;  while  the  electric  light  looks  down 
on  the  strangest  panorama  of  crowding,  hurrying  life 
that  we  have  seen. 

The  railway  approaches  completion,  only  a  few 
miles  away,  and  Helena  is  the  terminus  now  of  the 
Continental  Road.  There  has  been  a  new  adjustment 
of  prices.  With  the  coming  of  the  iron  rails  luxury 
has  entered ;  there  is  a  larger  outlook,  a  larger  life. 
Helena  is  the  supply  city  of  the  richest  mining 
region  in  the  Territory,  and  capital  is  coming  here  to 
plant  itself  in  the  new  ventures  with  which  the  air 
is  full. 

There  is  a  strange  life  here,  and  the  casual  visitor 
cannot  fail  to  catch  the  feverish  enthusiasm  every- 
where felt.  Only  with  difficulty  do  we  find  rooms. 
The  hotel  is  pretentious  in  outward  appearance,  but 
having  behind  this,  where  the  lodgings  are,  the  rude- 
ness of  the  pioneer  days;  the  electric  light  shines 
down  upon  the  hotel  office,  and  in  the  open  safe  we 
see  at  least  a  score  of  revolvers,  left  for  custody  by 


OVEB  THE  ROCKIES  BY  STAGE.         87 

the  guests.  The  street  is  filled  with  a  motley  array 
of  vehicles  :  road  wagons  fresh  from  Eastern  factories ; 
great  mule  teams  from  the  mines  ;  the  trotters  of  the 
city  sports ;  the  slow-paced  farmers'  teams ;  loaded 
stages  from  the  mountains  are  coming  in ;  while  on 
the  sidewalk  tenderfoot  and  tramp,  miner  and  trades- 
man, cowboy,  prospector,  farmer,  move  up  and  down. 
At  night  the  city  is  alive ;  the  gambler's  den  is  open, 
and  the  concert  hall  sends  out  the  twang  of  its 
guitars  and  the  rickety  voices  of  its  alluring  song- 
sters ;  the  roulette-table  has  its  little  band  of  victims ; 
while  in  the  side  streets  and  multitudinous  alleys  of 
the  city  one  sees  such  interminglings  of  thrift  and 
poverty,  such  restless,  incessant  feverish  toil,  as  causes 
every  nerve  to  thrill  with  sympathetic  restlessness. 
There  are  public  buildings  of  imposing  magnitude, 
fine  churches,  and  no  slight  evidences  of  wealth.  The 
general  aspect  of  the  city,  however,  is  that  of  unrest, 
the  temporary  halting-place  of  an  encampment ;  and 
while  the  business  streets  have  showy  solidity,  one 
has  but  to  go  to  the  rear  to  see  that  behind  these  am- 
bitious fronts  there  is  a  conglomeration  of  sheds  and 
shanties,  the  architecture  being,  as  some  one  has  said, 
"  Queen  Anne  in  front  and  Crazy  Jane  behind."  But 
nowhere  have  we  seen  such  stir  and  movement ;  even 
sight  of  such  activity  gives  exhilaration.  Here  enter- 
prise can  find  a  work  and  capital  a  field,  while  in  the 
fairer  homes  that  are  rising — the  changing  of  the  old 


88  RAMBLES  OVERLAND. 

desolation  of  the  mining-camp  into  a  luxurious  city 
— we  see  the  evidence  of  the  ameliorating  power  that 
comes  with  contact  with  the  outward  world. 

One  hundred  and  thirty  miles  away,  far  beyond  the 
Rocky  Mountains,  is  Missoula,  our  destination,  where 
we  shall  find  the  railway  which  shall  bear  us  down 
the  Pacific  Slope.  A  single  wheelman  has  posses- 
sion of  the  street  in  the  early  morning  when  we  come 
out  to  take  the  stage,  —  the  fattest  rider,  we  will 
wager,  that  can  be  found  between  the  two  seas,  — 
riding  up  and  down  with  perspiring  face  and  totter- 
ing wheel,  causing  apprehension  as  he  sways,  lest,  if 
the  expected  fall  should  come,  through  the  blockaded 
street  our  heavy  coach  will  fail  to  get  us  out  of  town. 

A  journey  to  the  Pacific  over  an  uncompleted  road 
is  a  series  of  disenchantrnents.  We  had  dreamed  of 
the  passage  of  the  Bockies  on  the  summit  of  a  Con- 
cord coach,  with  prancing  leaders  and  strange  adven- 
tures. The  actual  coach  is  a  mud- wagon,  —  never  a 
tiling  of  beauty,  nor  designed  as  a  palace  of  art  or 
luxury.  The  wheels  are  heavy,  and  inclined  to  heat 
upon  the  axles ;  the  seats  are  made  of  plank,  veneered 
with  the  slipperiest  of  leather ;  the  windows  are  half 
a  foot  too  low  for  any  kind  of  seeing  out,  while  the 
venerable  ark  is  so  low-studded  that  with  every  jolt- 
ing of  the  road  one  plays  at  shuttlecock  with  roof  and 
seat,  with  constant  questionings  as  to  which  has 
greatest  malignity  of  hardness. 


OVEB  THE  ROCKIES  BY  STAGE.        89 

We  had  tried  by  every  specious  flattery  on  the  pre- 
vious evening  to  secure  a  seat  from  the  saffron-haired 
dude  that  kept  the  booking-office  ;  but  the  places 
were  engaged,  and  we  had  only  the  sorry  choice  of 
riding  upon  the  seatless  top,  or  staying  over  till  the 
completion  of  the  road  in  the  early  autumn.  The 
stage  comes  up,  and  we  inspect  the  instrument  of  our 
two  days'  torture.  We  have  not  to  sit  upon  the  untem- 
pered  oaken  top,  for  a  dirty  canvas  is  tightened  over 
it  with  long  strips,  which,  with  the  natural  suction  of 
the  body,  will  help  to  hold  us  on,  we  hope.  There  is 
no  hint  of  rail ;  but  the  corners  are  so  rounded  that 
in  our  slippings  off  we  shall  probably  clear  the  wheels, 
which  is  something  of  a  comfort.  The  inside  seats 
are  filled ;  the  driver  has  two  passengers  who  have 
waited  over  to  share  his  seat ;  the  baggage  of  the  con- 
tinent seems  to  be  piled  upon  the  rack ;  the  mail- 
bags  are  tied  beneath  the  foot-board ;  and  just  as  we 
hasten  to  climb  up  to  select  the  slat  on  which  we 
shall  impale  ourselves,  we  are  told  to  wait  till  the 
baggage  takes  precedence.  A  zinc-covered  trunk 
is  made  the  background  of  the  deck  scenery,  the 
rounded  top,  with  half-driven  nails  protruding,  and 
little  scraps  of  metal  reaching  out  their  ragged  edges, 
furnishing  bumping  place  for  our  untutored  spines. 
Bags  of  oats  are  then  laid  down  lengthwise  of  the 
deck,  the  vacant  place  towards  the  driver  being  filled, 
at  least  a  foot  too  high,  with  sundry  satchels  for  our 


90  RAMBLES   OVERLAND. 

feet ;  the  whole  mass  tied  on  with  a  wiry  kind  of 
hempen  rope,  which  we  may  cling  to  if  only  we  can 
get  our  fingers  between  it  and  the  unyielding  oats. 

This  is  hardly  the  ideal  we  have  dreamed  of  in  our 
Eastern  home.  But  we  take  our  place  with  six  other 
martyrs  on  the  oats,  braiding  ourselves  together  as 
we  can,  —  cowboy,  miner,  hostler,  tourist,  tramp,  and 
parson,  —  not  over  sure  that  united  we  shall  stand, 
but  very  certain  that  divided  we  shall  fall. 

The  horses  much  need  the  oats  that  we  can  spare ; 
the  prancing  element  is  wanting,  but  they  are  faith- 
ful, and  deserve  the  pity  that  age  commands.  It  is 
the  last  month  of  the  old  stage  dynasty  that  once 
ruled  from  St.  Paul  to  the  Pacific,  and  these  are  the 
relics  of  a  lost  empire.  We  are  the  last  victims  of  a 
dying  tyrant. 

The  champion  swearers  of  the  world  may  be  se- 
lected, and  we  will  put  the  Montana  stage-drivers 
against  them,  man  for  man,  giving  any  odds  that  may 
be  asked.  They  swear  for  very  love  of  it,  —  at  their 
horses,  at  each  other,  at  marks  along  the  road ;  they 
swear  into  the  air,  they  soliloquize  in  oaths,  with  the 
smallest  gamut,  too,  of  curses ;  a  brainless  repetition 
of  profane  idiocies,  that  keeps  one  questioning  his 
conscience  whether  or  not  it  would  be  really  murder 
to  push  the  fellows  off  beneath  the  wheels. 

To  add  to  the  felicity  of  our  high  perchings  here, 
the  brindle-bearded  fellow  that  sits  upon  the  box 


OVER  THE   ROCKIES   BY  STAGE.  91 

was  "  held  up "  on  his  trip  the  day  before ;  his 
eighteen  passengers  getting  out  and  yielding  up,  un- 
der the  gentle  persuasions  of  a  brace  of  pistols,  such 
little  souvenirs  as  they  carried  with  them.  We  are 
going  over  the  same  road  with  the  same  driver,  who 
has  a  record  of  being  the  most-robbed  driver  on  the 
line.  There  is  little  of  the  Pass  of  Thermopylae  spirit 
about  our  company;  in  polling  the  passengers,  not 
one  gives  slightest  intimation  that  he  prefers  staying 
back  as  a  dead  hero  to  going  on  as  a  live  coward ; 
and  so  thoroughly  resigned  are  we  to  any  arrange- 
ments planned  by  the  "  road-agents,"  that  we  verily 
believe  a  solitary  man,  with  a  stick,  if  only  it  looks 
like  a  gun,  may  capture  the  entire  party. 

The  journey  lies  along  pleasant  gardens,  through 
which  the  water  flows  from  the  flumes  upon  the  hills; 
snug  cottages,  vine-embowered,  are  beside  the  water- 
ways ;  along  the  road  are  noisy  teamsters  breaking 
camp  for  the  long  day's  journey ;  and  such  pleasant 
odors  come  from  grove  and  thicket  as  fill  the  world 
in  the  blessed  morning  of  the  day.  The  road  soon 
rises  in  great  upward  reaches  of  the  mountains.  There 
is  no  sign  of  habitation  now,  except  the  little  stations 
where  we  change  the  horses ;  but  the  forest  grows 
dense.  As  the  hills  lift  up,  great  peaks  come  out 
in  line,  and  on  the  summits  that  we  cross  the  vast 
range  of  mountains  stretches  far  away,  while  into 
valleys,  thick-woven  with  the  braidings  of  the  forest, 


92  RAMBLES   OVERLAND. 

we  look  down.  Scene  succeeds  scene  while  we  toil 
upward  in  this  clear  air ;  pleasant  mountain-brooks 
are  crossed,  and  were  it  not  that  now  and  then 
great  peaks  come  in  view,  we  might  think  that 
we  are  only  tramping  among  the  old  familiar  New 
England  hills;  for  the  same  flowers  are  blooming 
here,  and  in  deep  vistas  of  the  woods  we  see  such 
beauty  of  fern  and  foliage  as  we  have  seen  in  other 
places  far  away. 

The  road  is  not  all  an  ascending  one ;  down  great 
pitches  of  the  hills,  holding  on  as  best  we  can,  the 
heavy  stage  goes  into  sunlit  valleys,  with  ruined 
mills  and  little  fields  musical  with  the  mower's 
scythe.  Here  branches  off  the  old  road  across  the 
treacherous  ford,  —  not  longer  used  because  of  the 
tragedy  enacted  there  a  year  ago,  —  and  then  comes 
the  final  climb  to  the  Great  Divide  which  separates 
the  waters  of  the  seas.  The  road  is  now  a  spiral 
to  the  clouds,  passing  by  a  cliff  of  iron,  and  up  by 
winding  terraces,  until  at  last  we  reach  the  summit, 
and  the  streams  go  westward  to  the  sea.  We  are  on 
the  Pacific  Slope  at  last,  and  below  us  are  fairer 
valleys  than  we  have  seen,  green  with  the  baptisms 
of  living  streams,  with  cattle-ranges  beside  the  road, 
and  great-eyed  oxen  looking  at  us  as  we  hurry  by. 

Our  forty-mile  journey  ends  at  Deer  Lodge,  and  on 
the  second  day  we  move  on  towards  Missoula.     The 
deserted  mine  of  Yamville  is  passed,  with  its  old  Ira- 
's 


OVER  THE  ROCKIES   BY   STAGE.  93 

ditions  of  millions  filched  from  the  desolation  of  these 
yawning  gulches ;  only  the  debris  now  is  left,  and 
over  this  the  patient  Chinaman  is  toiling,  gathering 
up  the  shining  fragments  that  are  left.  The  town  of 
Pioneer  lies  along  the  way,  rich  yet  in  gold,  which 
these  innumerable  sluice-ways  will  separate  from  the 
sand.  The  water  runs  to  waste  to-day,  for  the  miners 
have  gone  to  the  circus,  twenty  miles  away.  We  are 
in  the  cattle-ranges  once  again,  the  long,  rolling  plains 
sloping  upward  into  rounded  hills,  between  which  we 
can  see  great  droves  of  cattle  feeding. 

At  sunset  we  come  to  the  famous  Hell's  Gate,  — 
a  winding  way  hewn  out  from  the  mountain's  side ; 
with  mineral  springs  beside  the  road,  and,  fathoms 
down,  the  great  noisy  river  with  silent  pools  of  black- 
ness beside  the  shore.  There  are  long  level  stretches 
beneath  broad-branched  trees,  with  such  clean,  needle- 
covered  soil  as  old  groves  have ;  and  then  again  the 
road  winds  up,  looking  across  the  chasm  to  sharp 
peaks,  hewn  into  fantastic  pinnacles,  touched  with 
such  glory  as  the  dying  day  can  give. 

The  sun  is  fully  set  when,  with  the  tally  of  sixty 
miles  behind  us  as  the  journey  of  the  day,  we  stop  at 
Kramers  for  our  tea.  It  had  honorable  record  in  the 
old  days ;  but  with  the  going  of  the  stages  the  occu- 
pation of  the  inn  failed,  and  we  are  set  to  sup  upon 
the  scraps  left  over  from  the  feasts  of  other  days. 
We  have  thirty  miles  yet  before  us,  and  we  shall 


94  RAMBLES   OVERLAND. 

be  fortunate  if  we  reach  our  destination  before  one 
o'clock.  The  road  has  been  heavy,  and  the  dust  and 
heat  intolerable. 

A  construction  train  is  just  behind  the  house,  for 
the  railway  coming  from  the  West  was  built  here  a 
week  ago.  The  train  goes  down  in  an  hour's  time 
to  Missoula,  and  we  will  go  over  to  the  Chinese  camp 
and  wait,  letting  the  stage  go  on,  in  hopes  that  we  may 
find  easier  transit.  We  smuggle  ourselves  on  board 
the  caboose  of  the  returning  train.  We  have  sailed 
in  mid-ocean  with  less  tossings  than  we  now  experi- 
ence, for  the  road  is  unballasted  as  yet,  and  before  us 
are  the  flat  cars  on  which  the  rails  are  brought ;  so 
that  the  frequent  stoppings  of  the  train,  for  caution's 
sake,  are  like  "  the  wreck  of  matter  and  the  crush  of 
worlds."  There  is  a  most  unsavory  smell  within  the 
car,  for  supplies  for  the  laborers  are  brought  in  it 
daily  up  the  road,  while  Irishmen  and  Chinamen, 
Greeks,  Barbarians,  Scythians,  bond  and  free,  are 
crowded  here,  going  down  the  line.  It  adds  slight 
comfort  to  the  journey  that  the  light  goes  out  just 
when  a  spreading  rail  detains  us  for  an  hour.  We 
have  seldom  seen  so  weird  a  night  as  this,  here  in  the 
deep  defiles,  with  the  workmen's  torches  flaring  at  us 
in  the  darkness,  and  the  noisy  river  murmuring  we 
know  not  how  far  below. 

A  single  lantern  now  burns  within  the  car,  chang- 
ing with  its  flickering  light  the  strange  inmates  into 


OVER  THE  EOCKIES  BY  STAGE.         95 

grotesque  forms;  the  chattering  of  a  dozen  dialects 
long  since  has  ceased,  for  the  night  is  wearing  on  half- 
way to  its  close.  We  have  found  a  little  spot  on  the 
contractor's  dining-table  where  we  can  sit,  sandwiched 
between  a  Chinaman  and  a  native  of  the  Emerald 
Isle.  They  treat  us  kindly ;  for  in  the  bouncings  of 
the  journey,  so  often  as  we  are  thrown  upon  them, 
they  are  never  angered ;  and  when  tired  nature  seeks 
to  "knit  up  the  ravelled  sleave  of  care,"  and  in 
one  undistinguished  and  indistinguishable  mass  we 
lie  prostrate  together  on  the  table,  we  have  rarely 
had  —  either  because  of  weariness  or  the  friendliness 
they  bear  us  —  more  quiet  bed-fellows. 

So  we  finish  the  passage  of  the  Rockies ;  not  quite 
as  we  had  dreamed  in  our  planuings  of  the  trip,  but 
in  easier  fashion  than  if  we  had  kept  upon  the  stage, 
which,  by  reason  of  a  fallen  tree  across  the  road,  only 
finds  the  journey's  end  at  daybreak. 

We  never  learn  what  time  it  is  when  we  come  to 
the  final  stop.  We  only  know  that  the  international 
league  upon  the  table  goes  to  pieces  at  the  first  shake 
of  the  brakeman's  hand,  the  Chinaman  and  the  Irish- 
man withdrawing  from  the  triple  alliance,  leaving  us 
as  best  we  can  to  get  awake  and  find  shelter  for  the 
remaining  hours  of  the  night.  The  train  stops  short 
a  little  of  its  final  halting-place,  for  the  brakeman,  to 
quicken  us,  cries  out,  "We  only  stop  ten  minutes 
here."  Our  scattered  wits  must  be  getting  back,  for 


96  RAMBLES   OVERLAND. 

we  remember,  as  we  scamper  down,  the  old  story  of 
the  desperado  in  the  early  days,  who,  being  placed  upon 
his  mule,  and  told  that  he  had  just  fifteen  minutes  in 
which  to  leave  the  country,  quietly  remarked,  "  Gents, 
if  this  mule  don't  balk,  five  will  do." 


ON  THE  PACIFIC  SLOPE. 


Where  rolls  the  Oregon,  and  hears  no  sound, 
Save  its  own  dashings. 

BEYANT. 


CHAPTER  VI. 

ON  THE  PACIFIC  SLOPE. 

inROM  the  western  gateway  of  the  Rocky  Moun- 
J-  tains  at  Missoula  to  Portland,  Oregon,  is  upwards 
of  six  hundred  miles. 

I>eaving  the  mountains,  the  road  passes  soon  into 
the  Coriacan  Defile,  crossing  the  fearful  span  of  the 
Marent  Gulch  over  a  trestle  bridge  eight  hundred 
and  sixty-six  feet  in  length  and  two  hundred  and 
twenty-six  feet  in  height.  The  road  winds  on  along 
the  faces  of  the  hills,  coming  soon  to  the  Jocko  River, 
in  whose  pleasant  valley  for  sixty  miles  the  Flathead 
Indians  have  their  reservation.  These  natives  are 
peacefully  inclined,  having  long  ago  yielded  to  the 
civilizing  power  of  the  Jesuits.  River  after  river 
now  is  passed,  the  great  ranges  of  the  Bitter  Root 
Mountains  always  in  the  west,  until  at  last  the  splen- 
did stream  of  Clarke's  Fork  flows  beside  the  track, 
giving  for  miles  every  variety  of  pleasant  scenes. 

We  have  passed  now  into  Idaho,  having  reached 
the  most  northern  point  of  our  journey.  It  is  a  nar- 
row Territory,  however,  in  this,  its  northern  part,  only 


LOO  RAMBLES   OVERLAND. 

sixty  miles  in  width ;  but  it  has  within  it  Lake  Pend 
d'Oreille,  one  of  the  fairest  lakes  upon  the  continent. 
The  track  crosses  the  little  estuary  of  the  lake  which 
runs  up  to  meet  the  waters  of  Pack  River,  on  a  bridge 
a  mile  and  a  half  in  length,  and  then  for  nearly  twenty 
miles  winds  along  the  lake's  northern  shore.  The 
mountains  rise  grandly  around  the  lake,  thick  with  fo- 
liage of  fir ;  bold  islands  are  within  the  waters,  show- 
ing no  trace  that  ever  a  human  foot  disturbed  their 
solitudes.  The  lake  itself  is  beautiful,  winding  in  and 
out  among  the  hills,  opening  long  vistas  of  pleasant 
river-like  reaches  of  rippleless  water.  So  for  sixty 
miles  the  great  lake  hides  for  the  coming  people  its 
rare  surprises,  rivalling  our  own  Lake  George  in  the 
beauty  of  the  encircling  hills  and  the  serene  loveli- 
ness of  its  pleasant  waters.  The  shore  is  pebble- 
covered,  like  the  beaches  of  the  sea,  strewn  with  sun- 
bleached  timbers,  and  fragments  of  such  rude  boats  as 
the  Indians  have  made.  Forest  fires  are  raging  on 
the  mountains  as  we  skirt  the  lake,  patches  of  flame 
set  on  the  faces  of  the  cliffs  making  weird  illumination, 
and  sending  out  their  clouds  of  smoke  to  drift  above 
the  waters  of  the  lake. 

The  road  winds  southward  now :  the  Spokane  Val- 
ley is  entered,  and  over  the  boundary  line  of  Wash- 
ington Territory  we  pass.  The  reservation  of  the  Cceur 
d'Alene  Indians  is  close  at  hand.  The  natives  here 
on  the  western  coast  are  of  milder  temper  than  far- 


ON  THE   PACIFIC   SLOPE.  101 

ther  east,  for  they  have  yielded  more  readily  to  the 
civilizing  influences  of  the  Catholic  missions,  which 
have  cared  for  them.  A  facetious  writer  gives  as 
proof  of  the  civilization  of  these  natives  the  fact 
that  "  they  sell  their  wheat  for  cash,  and  that  the 
old  chief,  Sulteas,  has  a  pair  of  well-matched  horses 
for  his  carriage,  and  lets  his  money  at  two  per  cent 
a  month." 

The  Snake  and  Columbia  Rivers  meet  at  Ainsworth, 
where  we  cross  the  river  on  a  ferry.  At  Wallula 
Junction  the  Walla  Walla  IJiver  joins  the  Columbia, 
and  our  journey  now  will  lie  in  the  valley  of  this 
river.  Yet  not  in  the  valley,  for  it  has  no  real  valley, 
as  its  waters  are  walled  in  by  mighty  mountains,  and 
along  the  sides  of  these,  on  shelves  and  ledges,  around 
out-jutting  points,  we  shall  go  down  towards  the  sea. 

There  is  little  fertility  here,  the  desolation  of  the 
desert  is  around  us  ;  but  there  are  massive  sculptur- 
ings  of  rock  and  crag,  and  such  mighty  headlands  as 
keep  wonder  all  alert.  The  stone  has  crumbled  into 
every  fantastic  form,  while  the  great  river  below  bears 
on  its  burden  to  the  sea  in  mighty  currents,  hemmed 
in  by  crag  and  cliff.  The  Great  Dalles  of  the  Co- 
lumbia are  reached  in  the  progress  of  our  journey. 
Only  yesterday  the  salmon  season  closed,  and  the 
town  is  alive  with  men.  Fishermen,  speculators, 
tourists  throng  the  hotels,  and  as  the  great  train 
noisily  pushes  through  the  town,  crowds  look  upon 


102  RAMBLES   OVERLAND. 

it,  waiting  for  transit  down  the  line.  The  place  has 
many  curious  sights,  the  new  and  old  intermin- 
gling. Here  in  the  old  days  the  emigrant  to  Oregon 
halted  his  tired  horses  and  embarked  for  easier  prog- 
ress on  the  river,  and  here  too  the  new  life  of  recent 
enterprise  has  found  a  place  for  its  successful  ven- 
tures. 

Mount  Hood,  crowned  with  snows,  raises  up  its 
kingly  head  eleven  thousand  feet,  while  the  great 
river,  compressed  here  in  narrow  channels,  surges 
between  its  imprisoning  walls.  The  scene  is  one  of 
rare  sublimity,  for  the  shores  furnish,  with  their  black 
cliffs,  fine  setting  for  the  angry  waters,  while  over  all 
the  great  mountain  raises  its  majestic  summit,  looking 
down  serenely  on  the  wild  passion  of  the  river's  flow. 

If  we  could  but  call  forth  the  strange  adventures 
witnessed  here,  a  narrative  might  be  written  before 
which  romance  would  seem  dull,  for  this  has  been 
the  battle-field  of  the  men  who  contended  for  the 
empire  of  the  West.  The  Jesuit  Fathers  have  sailed 
these  waters,  and  while  we  glide  along  beside  the 
river  we  can  see  upon  the  other  shore  the  breaking 
up  of  the  Indian  encampments.  The  fishing  season 
has  closed,  and  from  the  settlements  among  the 
mountains  the  women  have  brought  down  the 
ponies  to  carry  back  the  braves  who  have  gathered 
here  supplies  for  the  coming  winter.  Long  reaches 
of  placid  water  follow,  alternating  with  rapids ;  the 


ON  THE  PACIFIC   SLOPE.  103 

great  cascades  of  the  Columbia  are  passed,  the  train 
noisily  thundering  beneath  the  cliffs,  shooting  through 
dark  tunnels,  to  come  out  into  new  surprises  of  forest, 
cliff,  mountain,  and  the  enchanting  river  carrying 
its  majestic  waters  half  a  thousand  feet  below  our 
flying  wheels.  Down  the  cliffs,  too,  come  great  sprays 
of  water,  and  deep  defile  and  gorge  lead  backward  in 
the  hills ;  and  there  are  traces  of  abandoned  mines,  and 
little  cabins  where  the  miners  dwelt,  with  now  and 
then  a  half-clothed  savage,  in  defiance  of  the  law,  fish- 
ing upon  the  river's  bank. 

The  track  now  diverges  from  the  river,  and,  trailing 
through  the  forest  for  twenty  miles,  we  come  into  the 
fair  valley  of  the  Willamette  River ;  and  here  before 
us,  across  the  river  which  floats  the  ships  of  every 
nation,  is  Portland,  the  metropolis  of  the  Pacific 
Northwest.  It  has  rare  advantages  of  situation. 
Oregon  with  its  vast  resources  pays  its  tribute  here, 
and  from  these  channels  the  great  wheat-laden  ships 
sail  to  every  port.  It  has  a  population  of  nearly 
forty  thousand,  with  streets  of  metropolitan  breadth, 
great  wholesale  houses,  street-cars,  public  buildings 
of  generous  proportions,  an  enterprising  local  press, 
and  all  the  advantages  that  Eastern  cities  have. 

We  have  reached  now  the  western  limit  of  our 
railway  ride.  Here  we  take  steamer  for  San  Fran- 
cisco, and  at  midnight  are  on  the  "Queen  of  the 
Pacific,"  ready  for  our  early  morning  voyage.  An 


104  RAMBLES   OVERLAND. 

hour's  sail  brings  us  to  the  confluence  of  the  "Willa- 
mette with  the  Columbia,  and  on  the  larger  river  for 
eighty  miles  and  more  we  sail  to  Astoria.  The  river 
is  sombre  in  this  early  morning  light,  for  the  great 
hills  on  either  side  are  clothed  with  forests  ;  even 
the  little  islands  are  closely  woven  with  the  dense, 
dark  foliage.  Now,  indeed,  we  realize  the  meaning  of 
the  "  continuous  woods  where  rolls  the  Oregon,"  for 
no  villages  cluster  on  the  shore,  nor  pleasant  farms 
relieve  the  sombreness  of  the  unbroken  forests.  How 
grandly  moves  this  mighty  current ;  how  wide  it 
spreads  in  opening  bays;  how  impressive  are  the 
solitudes  of  river,  island,  and  the  ever-present  forests ! 
Here  is  the  old  burial  island  which  used  to  be  the 
sepulchre  of  the  dusky  nation  that  lived  and  loved 
beside  these  waters ;  here  are  the  places  where  battles 
have  been  fought,  and  these  hills  have  given  back 
other  echoes  than  the  shrill  scream  of  our  steamer's 
whistle ! 

The  city  of  Astoria  is  curiously  set  upon  piles,  as 
though,  with  an  unsettled  empire  behind  it,  there  were 
need  of  thus  filching  from  the  sea  a  place  for  the 
city's  site.  The  place  was  founded  by  the  great  fur 
company,  and  has  had  a  strange  and  eventful  histoiy. 
It  has  grown  but  slowly,  for  until  the  building  of  the 
railway  this  wondrous  region  was  but  little  visited. 
The  salmon  industry  now  is  making  strange  activity, 
there  being  more  than  fifty  canning  establishments 


ON  THE  PACIFIC   SLOPE.  105 

here.  We  visit  them  aiid  all  the  wonders  of  the 
place.  The  town  is  still  crude,  and  bears  but  slight 
evidence  of  wealth ;  but  the  great  ships  lie  without  in 
the  harbor  here,  and  in  these  crowded  streets  one 
feels  the  beginnings  of  the  larger  movement  that  is 
to  change  the  old  city  into  a  place  of  thriving  indus- 
tries and  commerce. 

When  the  tide  covers  the  bar  to  sufficient  depth, 
we  cast  off  our  lines  and  leave  the  continent  behind. 
The  great  headlands  come  in  view,  Cape  Disappoint- 
ment holding  bravely  up  against  the  encroaching  sea. 
The  ship  passes  out  of  the  river  and  is  on  the  Pacific. 
For  two  days  we  sail  upon  its  placid  waters,  no 
sail  relieving  the  great  wastes  of  water,  nothing  seen 
except  the  sea-gulls  and  the  drifting  weeds.  The 
sun  sinks  with  glory  in  the  sea,  and  the  balmy  night 
reveals  the  stars  above  and  the  long  starry  way  trail- 
ing behind  our  advancing  keel.  The  air  is  fresh  with 
the  breezes  that  float  above  the  sea,  tempered,  seem- 
ingly, with  perfumes  from  invisible  islands  of  fra- 
grant woods  ;  the  forest  fires  are  burning  along  the 
coast,  and  the  vast  ranges  which  would  bear  us  com- 
pany are  hidden  behind  smoky  veils.  But  the 
ship  drifts  on,  and  here  before  us  are  the  shores  of 
the  golden  State,  and  here,  rising  like  sentinels  guard- 
ing priceless  treasures,  are  the  double  clifi's  of  the 
Golden  Gate.  It  is  not  wonderful  that  the  old  voy- 
agers passed  up  and  down,  never  dreaming  that  this 


106  RAMBLES   OVERLAND. 

narrow  gateway  opened  into  an  inland  sea  so  fair  as 
this  beside  which  the  great  city  has  built  itself.  Were 
not  these  mountains  veined  with  gold,  this  entrance- 
way  would  still  hold  worthily  its  royal  name ;  for  it 
is  of  surpassing  grandeur,  the  rocks  themselves  bold, 
sea-scarred,  holding  up  their  defiant  ramparts  against 
the  sea.  The  bay  beyond  cannot  surely  find  —  unless 
it  be  in  Naples  —  any  rival  in  the  world ;  island-dotted, 
spreading  out  its  blue  waters  like  a  sea,  with  pleasant 
shores  set  thick  with  towns,  and  on  the  heights  the 
magic  city  of  San  Francisco,  with  its  vast  multitude 
of  buildings,  and  over  all  the  solitary  cross  of  the 
burial-place,  standing  clearly  outlined  against  the 
cloudless  sky. 

We  can  hardly  realize  that  we  have  reached  the 
wonder-city  here  upon  the  western  borders  of  the 
continent;  that  California  is  before  and  the  Pacific 
behind  us.  So,  wondering  at  the  strange  life  around 
us,  we  come  down  the  gangway,  feeling,  as  the  throng 
of  hackinen  importune,  that  after  all  we  are  yet 
upon  the  earth,  although  so  severely  do  they  press  us, 
we  have  grave  doubts  how  long  we  may  be  permitted 
to  tarry  in  the  flesh. 


THE  CITY  OF  THE  GOLDEN  GATE. 


There '«  something  in  a  flying  horse. 

PETER  BELL. 


CHAPTER  VII. 

THE  CITY  OF  THE  GOLDEN  GATE. 

ROME  has  the  advantage  of  San  Francisco  on 
the  score  of  age,  but  the  newer  beats  the  older 
city  in  the  number  of  its  hills.  While  "  Jerusalem 
is  a  city  that  is  compact  together,"  this  one  sprawls 
from  the  Goldeu  Gate  half-way  to  the  Sierras,  —  a 
kind  of  miscellaneous  go-as-you-please  sort  of  a 
place,  that  looks  as  if  it  had  at  first  been  built  out 
of  plumb,  and  by  a  series  of  earthquakes  had  been 
still  farther  kinked  and  twisted.  The  hills  are  real 
up-and-down  sort  of  things,  cut  decidedly  on  the  bias, 
crossway,  sideway,  endway,  angleway,  anyway,  run- 
ning up,  looming  up,  any- way-to-get-up,  made  of 
sand  which  is  so  generally  in  a  state  of  flux  that  a 
man  hardly  knows  the  next  day  on  which  street  to 
look  for  his  corner  lot  The  houses  hold  on  to  these 
side-hills  by  some  indescribable  suction,  and  it  is  said 
that  the  feet  of  the  people,  before  the  coming  of  the 
cable  roads,  so  slanted  by  the  climbings  of  the  hills, 
that  on  level  ground  they  had  to  walk  upon  their 
heels. 


110  RAMBLES   OVERLAND. 

Shanty  and  villa  intermingle,  the  houses  of  the 
rich  and  poor  meet  together ;  and  ambitious  architects 
are  the  makers  of  them  all.  The  newer  buildings 
are  of  imposing  magnitude,  of  great  solidity  and 
grace ;  the  homes  of  the  millionnaires  are  palatial ; 
but  the  general  aspect  of  the  place  is  that  of  a  lack 
of  architectural  character,  a  city  where  every  man 
owns  a  jig-saw,  and  is  the  architect  of  his  own  house 
if  not  of  his  own  fortune. 

An  old  South  Jersey  friend  used  to  say,  "  Our  land 
here  is  valueless,  but  our  climate  is  worth  a  thousand 
dollars  an  acre."  The  average  San  Franciscan  keeps 
discreet  silence  of  the  city's  soil,  but  the  climate  is  a 
constant  theme  for  wonder,  love,  and  praise.  And 
yet  the  weather  is  as  uncertain  as  the  fulfilment  of 
Vennor's  prophecies.  Summer  is  in  winter,  and  cold 
weather  comes  in  the  hot  months.  About  eleven 
o'clock  in  the  morning  the  zephyrs  begin  to  put  the 
hills  in  circulation,  and  the  entire  unimproved  estate 
of  the  city  is  up  in  air.  The  wind  is  a  kind  of  mar- 
row-searching affair,  severely  gritty,  a  trifle  salt,  and 
sure  to  make  itself  at  home  in  the  defective  tissues. 
And  yet  these  people  with  chattering  lips  will  chant 
the  praises  of  the  balmy  air,  while  the  zephyrs  make 
havoc  in  the  streets,  and  there  are  fires  in  half  the 
city  grates. 

We  have  told  the  truth,  but  not  the  whole  truth, 
about  this  sandy  soil  There  is  some  latent  power 


THE  CITY  OF  THE  GOLDEN  GATE.  Ill 

in  these  grains  of  sand  which  the  California  water 
finds,  for  wherever  the  magic  water  touches  it  the 
desolation  changes  to  luxuriance.  The  city  in  many 
of  its  parts  is  a  garden  ;  tiny  yards  are  like  little  bits 
stolen  out  of  Eden,  with  velvet  lawns  kept  green  with 
daily  waterings,  and  clambering  vines  covering  porch 
and  trellis.  In  the  flower  season  the  city  must  be 
like  an  Oriental  fair,  for  here  are  fuchsia  bushes  like 
lilac  trees,  and  great  tangle  braids  of  vines  that  must 
take  on  bewitching  beauty  when  the  flowers  come. 

We  can  believe  the  wonders  that  they  tell  us  of, 
for  in  the  great  park  we  visit  we  see  some  of  the 
marvels  born  from  the  marriage  of  this  strange  soil 
and  the  miracle-working  water  hidden  in  the  hills ; 
and  even  now,  when  the  year  wears  its  russet  livery, 
we  get  hints  iu  the  belated  blossoms  of  what  the  city 
must  be, 

"When  spring  unlocks  the  flowers  to  paint  the  laughing  soil." 

This  is  the  way  we  see  the  city.  In  the  Nevada 
Stables  there  is  a  horse,  the  fairest,  rarest  horse  man 
ever  sat  upon.  Our  good  fairy  tells  us  where  to  find 
him,  and  he  knows  that  we  are  coming,  for  he  dances 
with  joy  to  see  us ;  and  how  glad  he  is  all  through  the 
day  that  we  have  come  to  ride  him  !  The  genial  Willis 
used  to  say  that  "  there  is  nothing  so  good  for  the  in- 
side of  a  man  as  the  outside  of  a  horse  ; "  and  so  do 
the  Arabs  have  love  for  it,  that  they  have  an  iinme- 


112  EAMBLES   OVERLAND. 

morial  proverb,  that  "  he  who  forgets  the  beauty  of  a 
horse  for  the  beauty  of  a  woman  will  never  prosper." 
But  there  are  horses  and  horses,  and  who  can  tell,  by 
looking,  the  fashion  of  a  horse.  Even  so  wise  a  man 
as  Sforza  used  to  say,  that  "  should  one  desire  to  take 
a  wife,  to  buy  a  horse,  to  get  a  melon,  the  wise  man 
will  recommend  himself  to  Providence,  and  draw  his 
bonnet  over  his  eyes." 

But  we  know  by  that  instinct  that  creatures  some- 
times have  that  both  horse  and  rider  have  met  one  of 
the  epochs  in  their  lives,  and  the  great  splendid  ani- 
mal is  so  royally  glad  that  we  have  come  that  he  is 
impatient  to  bear  us  over  the  hills  and  far  away  in 
such  an  exultant  race  as  we  have  never  had  in  all 
our  life  before. 

Oh,  but  it  is  a  wondrous  seat  that  we  have  found, 
—  a  very  battery  of  electric  force !  We  can  feel  be- 
neath us  the  dancing  of  every  nerve,  and  how  airily 
this  matchless  creature  bears  us,  as  though  he  carries 
Caesar  and  all  his  fortunes.  We  wear  our  honors 
meekly  as  he  bears  us  through  the  crowded  streets ; 
we  have  just  a  touch  of  hope  that  those  who  watch 
us  are  giving  not  all  their  admiration  to  the  horse ; 
although  so  do  we  love  it  that  we  cannot  be  envious 
if  we  would,  and  secretly  we  know  that  we  are  not 
half  so  superb  an  animal  as  this  that  carries  us. 

But  here  is  Nobb  Hill,  half  a  thousand  feet  above 
us ;  and  how  can  this  fellow  bear  us  up  this  semi- 


THE  CITY   OF  THE  GOLDEN   GATE.  113 

precipice  of  plank  ?  Ah,  we  little  know  him !  We 
loosen  our  reins  just  the  tiniest  bit;  and  away,  up 
and  on,  he  springs,  as  though  life  had  no  joy  so  great 
as  climbing  to  the  clouds.  We  have  come  far  to  see 
these  palaces  of  the  bonanza  kings,  and  really  we 
must  insist,  now  that  we  are  here,  on  looking  for  a 
moment ;  for  how  can  we  tell  now  that  we  may  not 
some  time  be  millionnaires  ourselves  ?  —  and  it  will 
be  handy  then  to  know  what  things  to  do.  So,  despite 
the  protest  of  our  horse, — though  the  feet  dance,  and 
the  curb  is  flecked  with  foam, — we  spy  out  the  won- 
ders of  the  palaces.  They  are  vastly  large ;  a  very 
efflorescence  of  tower,  turret,  balcony,  and  portico, 
an  epidemic  of  ornament,  as  though  the  jig-saw,  being 
a  plebeian  fellow,  had  a  kind  of  communistic  hatred 
for  the  millionnaires,  and  had  wreaked  wild  vengeance 
on  their  dwellings.  We  dare  not  say  how  much  these 
pretentious  buildings  cost,  knowing  that  we  shall 
surely  miss  half  the  figures ;  we  are  certain,  anyway, 
that  the  wall  around  the  terrace  on  which  this  one 
rests  cost  a  quarter  of  a  million,  and,  as  the  humorist 
said  of  his  frog,  we  could  n't  see  any  points  about 
that  wall  any  more  than  any  other  wall. 

We  begin  to  grow  suspicious  that  in  other  days 
our  horse  has  carried  some  hoodlum  rider  to  the 
Sand-lot  meetings ;  for  where  can  we  get,  other  than 
from  him,  the  strange,  protesting  feeling  that  these 
dwellers  here  should  have  such  palaces,  when  there 

8 


114  RAMBLES   OVERLAND. 

is  such  poverty  just  below  the  hill  ?  It  does  not  seem 
quite  fair  that  there  should  be  such  inequality ;  and 
as  we  look  across  the  bay  to  where  the  prison  is,  and 
think  of  the  convicts  there  busily  working  for  the 
State,  and  then  at  these  palaces  of  the  monopolists, 
we  confess  that  we  have  a  kind  of  hoodlum  feeling 
as  we  listen  without  protest  to  this  old  saw  that  our 
horse  repeats  to  us :  — 

"  The  law  locks  up  the  man  or  woman 
Who  steals  the  goose  from  off  the  common, 
But  lets  the  greater  villain  loose 
Who  steals  the  common  from  the  goose." 

Of  course  we  will  not  countenance  any  such  heresy, 
and  we  tell  him  to  go  on  and  mind  his  business ;  but 
as  we  go  along  we  secretly  think  there  is  good  "  horse- 
sense"  in  what  the  fellow  says. 

Far  off  on  the  hills,  set  against  the  sky,  stands  on 
the  summit  of  Lone  Mountain  a  wooden  cross.  Far 
out  at  sea  we  saw  this  thing  towering  weirdly,  like  a 
second  Calvary,  above  the  city  of  a  hundred  hills ; 
and  now  we  will  go  upward  to  where  the  cross,  in  its 
place  of  graves,  keeps  its  eternal  vigil  above  the  am- 
bition, the  shame,  and  virtue  of  the  city.  Down,  up, 
over  the  hills,  by  pleasant  homes,  touching  the  rude 
fringes  of  the  town,  we  come  up  to  the  city  of  the 
dead.  Close  beside  it  is  Laurel  Hill,  beautiful  with 
ivy,  with  no  sign  in  outward  glory  of  shrub  and  tree 
that  there  are  graves  beneath  these  scarlet  and  pur- 


THE   CITY  OF  THE   GOLDEN   GATE.  115 

pie  flowers.  We  can  read  here  the  story  of  yonder 
city's  life.  The  pioneers  were  buried  beneath  these 
wooden  slabs.  How  rudely  they  are  carved !  The 
weather  has  almost  stained  out  the  little  record  of 
their  lives.  This  is  the  end,  then,  of  the  adventurous 
lives  of  the  bold  men  who  came  over  the  plains  and 
by  the  highway  of  the  sea  to  plant  here  a  new 
empire !  How  familiar  are  the  names  on  these  old 
moss-grown  stones,  —  Providence,  Newburyport,  Bos- 
ton, New  London,  Salem,  Gloucester,  New  Bedford  I 
All  of  these  we  read  as  the  birthplaces  of  those  who 
once  were  clothed  in  the  dust  mouldering  beneath; 
and  our  journey  through  these  silent  cities,  whose 
dwellers  never  move,  tells  us  many  things  of  the 
old  life  of  this  strange  city  of  the  Golden  Gate.  But 
here  we  are  far  above  the  city. 

San  Francisco  is  upon  <t  tongue  of  land  running  up 
to  the  mountains,  between  the  bay  and  the  sea.  On 
the  seaward  side  the  hills  as  yet  are  but  sandy  dunes, 
bearing  only  such  faint  trace  of  softer  life  as  comes 
from  little  patches  of  wiry  grass.  But  here  below  is 
the  city.  Its  squalor  is  hidden  from  this  height,  and 
one  cannot  tell  now  that  there  are  any  shadows  of 
poverty  and  ugliness  to  temper  the  brightness  of 
the  place,  sleeping  in  its  magic  loveliness  below. 
But  our  eyes  will  not  linger  long  on  any  city,  when 
beyond  there  is  such  a  bay  as  this.  Why  is  it 
that  they  never  told  us  that  Naples  almost  had  a 


116  RAMBLES   OVERLAND. 

rival  here  ?    True,  this  is  a  State  that  has  within  its 

borders 

"  Awful  Shasta's  icy  shrine ;  " 

it  is  the  land 

"  Where  a  wind  ever  soft  from  the  blue  heaven  blows, 
And  the  groves  are  of  laurel,  and  myrtle,  and  rose." 

In  its  great  forests 

"  Aged  trees  cathedral  walks  compose," 

while 

"Afar  the  bright  Sierras  lie, 
A  swaying  line  of  snowy  white." 

But  even  such  opulence  cannot  afford  to  leave  out  of 
its  catalogue  of  beauties  so  fair  a  thing  as  the  bay  of 
the  Golden  Gate.  How  vast  it  is,  running  from  the 
sea  far  into  the  valleys  of  the  mountains !  A  thousand 
navies  here  can  ride  at  anchor ;  it  is  an  inland  sea, 
fair  with  islands,  set  round  with  hills;  with  white 
towns  nestling  on  its  beaches,  and  great  rivers  com- 
ing down  like  azure  streams  to  join  an  azure  sea. 

These  hills  beyond  are  wonderful  for  one  who  has 
the  inner  sense  to  see  the  colors  that  even  a  tree- 
less soil  takes  from  the  sun.  They  are  such  heights 
as  old  Spain  has;  and,  unless  the  deceptive  air  is 
cheating  us,  there  are  winding  roads  going  upward 
in  curious  spirals  to  the  sunny  summits.  And  if 
we  will  only  shut  our  eyes  a  little  and  let  busy 
fancy  do  the  seeing,  there  are  quaint  cities  there 


THE  CITY  OF  THE   GOLDEN   GATE.  117 

with  walls  and  gates ;  and  underneath,  rude  fishing- 
towns,  quaint  with  cabins  huddling  by  the  cliffs,  and 
old  fishers'  boats  spread  over  with  nets  drying  beside 
the  beach. 

There  are  pleasant  towns  upon  the  other  side: 
Alameda,  Saucelito,  San  Quentin,  San  Rafael,  Vallejo, 
Oakland,  with  its  great  pier  running  out  a  mile  or 
more,  the  fair  Nappa  valley,  and  beyond  all  the  great 
peaks  of  the  ever  present  Coast  Range. 

How  fair  the  city  is  upon  this  cloudless  day !  Its 
spires  and  domes  are  not  so  lofty  as  many  other  places 
we  have  seen,  but  this  is  a  city  builded 

"  Like  Aladdin's  tower, — 
Began  and  finished  in  an  hour." 

Our  own  short  life  more  than  spans  its  history,  and 
lo !  here  float  ships  from  every  land,  here  are  the 
smoke  of  forges ;  it  is  a  city  of  factories  and  shops,  a 
hive  of  industry,  rich  with  art,  glorious  with  achieve- 
ment, bright  with  promise ! 

Westward  now  to  the  sea  we  go,  great  wastes  of 
sand  around  us,  with  now  and  then  a  cottage  embow- 
ered in  vine  and  foliage,  and  over  on  the  hills  the 
great  white  fence  enclosing  the  vast  area  of  another 
city  of  the  dead. 

But  this  grand  fellow  beneath  us  has  a  native's 
pride  in  this  fair  city,  and  whispers  that  he  has  more 
in  store  for  us ;  he  has  caught,  too,  the  briny  smell 


118  RAMBLES   OVERLAND. 

of  the  Pacific,  and  if  we  will  only  please  let  up  a 
little  on  the  lower  reins  that  hold  the  curb  he  will 
not  say  a  word  about  the  others,  but  will  become  the 
winged  Pegasus  bearing  us  to  the  sea.  We  try  to 
chide  and  tell  him  more  than  once  that  we  are  known 
at  home  as  soberly  inclined,  and  ask  him  what  would 
Mrs.  Gruudy  say  if  she  saw  such  mad  John  Gilpin 
racings  out  here  across  the  continent,  so  really  it  will 
never  do ;  and  so  we  "kinder"  keep  him  down,  though 
because,  perhaps,  we  are  not  over  strong,  our  muscles 
would  fail  a  little  on  the  straight  roads  beyond  the 
houses,  while  a  thousand  times  we  say,  "  Was  there 
ever  such  a  horse  ? "  And  there  never  was.  We 
are  at  the  Cliff  House  now,  and  our  good  horse  whis- 
pers to  us,  "  You  just  go  round  and  see  the  seals,  and 
I  will  wait  here  underneath  the  sheds  and  bolster  up 
my  breath  to  show  you  what  I  can  do  on  the  park 
road  home." 

So  we  stand  on  the  balcony  of  the  hotel  and  look 
out  on  the  great  rocks,  and  the  uncouth  seals,  and 
the  innumerable  sea-gulls ;  the  great  ship  with  every 
sail  set,  bound  for  the  portals  of  the  Golden  Gate; 
the  great  illimitable  sea,  and  somewhere  out  in  the 
west  the  King  of  the  Cannibal  Islands,  of  whom  we 
used  to  think  in  boyhood  much  oftener  than  now. 
The  rocks  here  are  broken  into  most  fantastic  form, 
massed  together  in  splendid  piles,  black  like  ebony, 
and  draperied  with  black  sea-weed  floating  with  the 


THE  CITY  OF  THE   GOLDEN   GATE.  119 

surging  of  the  tides.  The  surf-men  are  dragging  up 
the  life-boat  from  the  beach,  for  this  quiet  sea  has  its 
angry  moods  ;  and  beside  the  rocks  a  pleasant  road 
winds  downward  to  the  sand,  and  upward  to  the  park 
and  onward  to  the  city,  miles  away. 

A  sea-horse  must  have  been  the  sire  of  this  fellow 
that  carries  us,  for  the  sea  breezes  have  seemed  to 
put  a  thousand  fires  within  his  veins.  Our  remon- 
strances are  vain,  and  the  sign-boards  of  the  park, 
threatening  every  kind  of  fine  for  intemperate  speed, 
are  without  avail.  What  can  we  do,  anyway,  now 
that  we  are  on,  but  keep  on,  if  we  can,  and  go  with 
him  to  the  city  prison,  to  bail  him  out,  if  they  will 
thus  suffer  atonement  for  the  breaking  of  the  city 
ordinances. 

Men  look  at  us  and  wonder;  fat  dowagers  drive 
under  the  shelter  of  the  hills  to  give  us  all  the  road ; 
the  policemen  hide  in  the  bushes,  that  they  may  not 
see  a  crime  they  cannot  punish;  while  we  go  on 
towards  the  city  with  lightning  speed,  anxious  of 
course  to  go  with  dignified  sobriety;  but  we  can't 
By  the  awful  monstrosity  of  the  new  City  Hall,  an 
architectural  nightmare  in  poor  brick;  by  the  vast 
Catholic  College;  on  to  South  Francisco;  along  the 
water  front ;  down  the  outside  and  up  the  centre,  in 
the  old  country-dance  fashion, — so  we  see  San  Fran- 
cisco. If  we  should  give  the  names  and  number  of 
the  buildings,  its  population,  history,  peculiarities, 


120  RAMBLES   OVERLAND. 

we  should  doubtless  filch  from  the  guide-books  the 
essential  facts ;  and  we  have  no  heart  to  take  from 
our  readers  what  rare  pleasure  there  may  be  in  steal- 
ing from  first  sources. 

The  Chinese  Quarter,  of  course,  must  have  a  word 
of  notice.  Here  is  a  segment  of  a  Chinese  city.  The 
stores  are  veritable  China-shops, — tiny,  decorated  with 
all  sorts  of  fantastic  tea-chesty,  fire-crackery  kind  of 
ornaments,  looking  like  the  pictured  Chinese  junks 
stranded  in  the  San  Francisco  streets,  or  a  multitude 
of  transplanted  pagodas.  The  stores  are  orderly ;  the 
little  markets  scrupulously  neat,  containing  such  little 
messes  of  curious  vegetables  as  a  picnic  party  of  dolls 
might  wish.  The  streets  are  filled  with  natives,  — 
orderly,  civil,  not  handsome,  quiet,  sober.  We  do 
penance  for  an  hour  at  the  Chinese  theatre.  The 
Chinese  are  not  a  histrionic  people.  The  dramatic 
instinct  is  not  strong.  They  are  not,  if  our  observa- 
tion serves,  "  children  of  song."  We  should  not  select 
a  boiler-shop  if  we  needed  the  solace  of  music ;  we 
should  prefer  it,  however,  to  a  Chinese  theatre.  The 
tin-pan  serenade  of  a  bridal  couple  in  a  country  town 
is  like  a  symphony  compared  with  the  music  of  a 
Chinese  orchestra  j  and  we  are  confident  that  nowhere 
on  the  earth,  or  iii  the  sea,  or  in  the  waters  under  the 
sea,  is  there  such  "  confusion  worse  confounded " 
as  at  the  Chinese  Opera  on  one  of  the  full-dress 
nights. 


THE  CITY  OF  THE  GOLDEN   GATE.  121 

There  is  no  curtain,  no  scenery,  "no  nothing"  ex- 
cept noise.  The  orchestra  is  on  the  back  part  of  the 
stage,  pounding  away  for  dear  life :  cymbals,  drums, 
fiddles  with  one  string,  and  that  the  squeak  one, 
banjo-looking  instruments  of  torture,  a  miscellaneous 
lot  of  articles  by  courtesy  called  musical,  in  the  hands 
of  a  lot  of  able-bodied  laundrymen,  every  one  of 
whom  is  contributing  to  the  general  agony.  The 
men  smoke,  have  their  hats  on,  stop  to  chat,  light 
their  cigarettes,  exchange  places,  go  out,  and  visit 
round  generally,  oblivious  of  the  plot,  —  though  there 
is  no  plot  except  to  make  all  the  noise  they  can. 
The  supe  walks  around,  waits  till  the  actors  get  up, 
takes  away  the  seats,  leans  against  the  walls,  lights 
his  cigarette,  makes  himself  generally  at  home. 
Spectators  go  at  will  on  the  stage,  and  there  is  a 
kind  of  unconventional  free-and-easy  abandon  to  the 
performance,  that  would  be  exhilarating  if  our  heads 
were  not  breaking  with  the  pressure  of  the  noise. 

The  actors  are  well  dressed,  though  we  cannot  say 
that  we  are  partial  to  the  Chinese  costume.  Their 
speech  is  a  kind  of  prolonged  soliloquizing,  uttered  in 
a  kind  of  falsetto  key ;  it  has  this  advantage,  that  a 
little  of  it  goes  a  good  way.  We  should  have  been 
satisfied  if,  like  George  Washington  in  the  story,  we 
had  simply  walked  up  and  then  walked  down  again  ; 
and  while  there  are  dissipations  that  we  may  repeat 
in  the  unfolding  of  our  life,  we  are  certain  that  our 


122  RAMBLES  OVERLAND. 

curiosity  concerning  Chinese  dramatic  art  is  satisfied, 
—  in  fact,  more  than  satisfied. 

San  Francisco  is  a  city  of  hotels.  The  Palace  is,  on 
the  outside,  an  architectural  patchwork  of  bay  win- 
dows ;  the  building  within  is  set  round  a  large  open 
court  covered  with  glass.  The  building  cost  seven 
millions,  and  is  the  largest  in  the  world.  Hotel  life 
is  in  great  vogue  with  the  people  here,  and  quite  a 
fraction  of  the  population  can  be  found  residing  in 
the  great  public  houses. 

Among  the  pleasant  and  profitable  things  to  do  in 
the  city  is  to  visit  the  rooms  of  one  of  the  great  pho- 
tographers. We  select  Taber's,  the  leader  of  the  art 
on  the  Pacific  Coast.  Nowhere,  unless  it  is  in  Venice, 
can  there  be  such  pictures  painted  by  the  sun ;  for 
nowhere  has  art  attained  greater  perfection,  and  no- 
where is  there  finer  atmosphere  than  this.  All  the 
wonders  of  California  are  here, —  a  rare  artistic  in- 
stinct selecting  just  the  one  right  spot  for  the  picture, 
and  then  doing  the  mechanical  work  with  the  enthu- 
siasm of  an  artist  rather  than  the  unthinking  formal- 
ism of  an  artisan.  The  wonders  we  have  seen  are 
revived  by  these  matchless  pictures,  and  in  these 
images  of  the  new  wonders  yet  awaiting  us  we  feed 
anticipation. 

The  city,  we  think,  is  worthy  of  its  location,  and 
destined  to  achieve  a  splendid  career.  The  people 
are  outgrowing  the  evils  peculiar  to  their  early  days. 


THE   CITY   OF  THE  GOLDEN   GATE.  123 

Municipal  wealth  will  come,  and  with  it  the  adorn- 
ments that  wealth  procures.  These  things  we  believe. 
But  we  know  that  the  horse  which  now  rests  from 
his  labors  in  the  Nevada  Stables  is  the  best  horse  on 
the  continent ;  and  had  we  been  taxed,  on  our  return 
from  the  exploration  of  the  city,  the  sum  of  all  our 
assets,  we  are  certain,  with  the  hero  in  the  Irish  play, 
who  was  threatened  with  a  year's  imprisonment  for 
his  stolen  ride,  we  should  have  exclaimed  with  him, 
"  Faith,  and  it  was  worth  it ! " 


THE  APPROACH  TO  THE  YOSEMITE. 


What  thy  soul  holds  dear,  imagine  it 
To  lie  that  way  thou  ao'st. 

SHAKSPEAEE. 


CHAPTER  VIII. 

THE  APPROACH  TO  THE  YOSEMITE. 

ONE  hundred  and  fifty  miles  from  San  Francisco 
is  Madera,  and  ninety  miles  from  Madera  is  the 
Yosemite. 

The  railroad  takes  us  to  the  former  place,  and 
forty-one  horses  take  us  to  the  valley.  The  coach  is 
an  open  one  upon  the  sides,  slanting  at  the  ends  in 
chariot  fashion,  like  the  band-wagon  of  a  circus,  but 
covered  with  a  light  top  of  leather,  and  fairly  hung  on 
the  old-time  thorough-braces.  The  seats  are  like  the 
old  sittings  in  the  Litchfield  meeting-house  as  de- 
scribed by  Mr.  Beecher,  having  no  softness  except 
such  as  you  carry  to  them,  while  the  backs  reach  up 
their  sharp  edges  just  high  enough  to  catch  the 
weakest  vertebra.  However,  not  a  word  shall  we  say 
against  this  matchless  ride.  The  equipment  is  superb ; 
strong,  fleet,  well-groomed  horses,  an  unequalled  road, 
and  such  a  driver  as  we  never  had  before. 

All  day  long,  up  hill,  down  hill,  the  steaming 
horses  go,  the  long  lash  cracking  over  them,  while, 
clinging  to  seat  and  iron  rail  in  the  wild  excitement 


128  KA3IBLES   OVERLAND. 

that  rapid  motion  gives,  we  are  carried  on  towards 
the  happy  valley. 

We  are  fortunate  in  the  passengers  that  are  to  be 
our  companions  for  a  week.     An  ex-member  of  the 
Legislature  of  the  Empire  State,  whom  we  early  call 
the  Senator,  full  to  the  brim  of  old  scraps  of  college 
songs,  with  no  small  wit  at  anecdote  and  story, — a  fel- 
low of  infinite  jest,  mingled  with  such  good  sense  as 
is  seldom  mixed  in  the  composition  of  the  ideal  "  good 
fellow ; "  the  Secretary  of  the  Grand  Encampment  of 
the  Knights  Templars,  which  meets  during  the  coming 
week  in  San  Francisco,  —  a  college  professor  before 
he  became  a  scribe,  with  pocket  full  of  such  decora- 
tions as  the  Sir  Knights  like  to  wear,  and  many  curi- 
ous experiences  tucked  away  in  his  knightly  head, 
which  will  naturally  be  shaken  out  in  the  ups  and 
downs  of  the  journey  of  the  week ;  an  engineer  from 
Iowa,  who  in  Mexico  is  making  fame  and  fortune ;  a 
banker,  who,  though  fresh  from  Ohio,  neither  holds 
nor  desires  an  office ;  a  dry-goods  merchant,  also  from 
Ohio.     There  is  also  a  venerable  Texan  judge,  with  a 
tall  hat  much  the  worse  for  wear,  —  a  man  full  of  legal 
lore,  mingled  with  poetry,  an  enthusiast  in  all  the 
wonders  of  the  road,  guarding  as  best  he  can  the 
daughter  that  accompanies  him,  the  only  lady  in  this 
company  of  men.     A  neighbor  of  the  judge's  is  jour- 
neying with  him,  —  a  most  irrepressible  young  man, 
most  unaccountably  skilled  in  law  for  one  whose  head 


THE  APPROACH  TO  THE  YOSEMITE.      129 

is  crammed  with  all  the  songs  ever  sung  upon  the 
minstrel's  stage ;  a  most  susceptible  young  man,  who 
manages,  by  such  shifty  tricks  as  lawyers  somehow 
learn,  to  always  have  the  judge  and  the  judge's  daugh- 
ter with  him  on  the  seat,  quite  content  to  have  the 
father  on  the  outer  side,  where  the  bulk  of  his  atten- 
tion must  perforce  be  given  to  keep  himself  from 
falling  out  and  his  hat  from  falling  off. 

There  are  lots  of  places  worse  fitted  than  a  four 
days'  ride  for  entrapping  the  love  of  a  confiding  girl 
There  are  so  many  attentions  that  a  lone  maiden 
hungers  for  on  a  stage  journey,  such  marvellous 
opportunities  for  those  endless  questionings  which 
belong  to  woman,  so  many  places  of  danger  where  a 
strong  arm  is  needed,  that  we  do  not  wonder  that  the 
young  lawyer  gradually  changes  the  young  lady's 
aversion  to  regard,  —  this  regard  subsiding  on  the  re- 
turn trip  into  solicitude,  and  in  the  last  stages  of  the 
journey  into  love. 

The  course  of  true  love  does  not  always  go  smoothly 
even  on  a  stage.  The  old  judge,  in  the  intervals  of 
guarding  his  hat,  is  wont  to  rouse  himself  and  come  to 
the  protection  of  his  daughter,  when  the  artful  lover, 
with  matchless  skill,  winds  the  old  man  up  on  the  oft- 
repeated  stories,  calling  out,  with  such  dissemblings  as 
lovers  have,  the  well-worn  anecdotes,  until,  wearied 
with  protracted  speech,  the  old  man  forgets  his  wari- 
ness and  turns  his  exhausted  faculties  to  the  task  of 

9 


130  EAMBLES  OVERLAND. 

guarding  his  much- battered  hat  from  the  perils  of  the 
roof.  The  dry-goods  merchant,  too,  is  a  thorn  in  the 
lover's  side.  He  is  a  dashing  kind  of  fellow,  and  it  is 
natural  that  the  judge's  daughter  —  being  a  woman, 
and  therefore  human —  is  not  going,  without  a  struggle, 
to  become  the  affianced  of  this  persistent  lover.  We  do 
not  think  the  merchant  really  loves  her, — we  half  sus- 
pect he  has  a  wife  at  home, — but  he  has  that  rare  win- 
ning way,  that  gentle  deference  that  comes  perhaps 
from  the  business  that  he  follows,  but  which  at  any 
rate  is  most  beguiling  to  a  woman.  And  then  the 
passengers  are  pushing  the  fellow  on;  making  little 
conspiracies  in  the  stables  where  the  horses  change, 
putting  together  combinations  to  slip  the  merchant  in 
the  lawyer's  place,  urging  on  the  not  over-ardent  rival 
on  the  ground  of  public  duty,  and  then  watching  in  a 
kind  of  careless  fashion  the  legal  Caesar  sulking  in  his 
tent,  while  on  the  seat  behind  the  merchant  whispers 
to  the  maiden  such  pleasant  nonsense  as  men  have 
always  used  since  Adam  wooed  Eve  in  the  groves  of 
Eden. 

So  through  the  journey  there  is  this  little  romance, 
—  a  gentle  girl  and  a  gallant  youth,  learning,  by  that 
tender  tutelage  that  love  knows  how  to  use,  to  change 
each  other  from  common  beings  into  idols ;  the 
maiden  urging  on  a  lover's  lagging  steps  by  pleasant 
little  coquetries,  trying  to  cheat  herself  with  little 
resistances,  yet  leading  him  on  all  the  while.  So 


THE  APPROACH  TO  THE  YOSEMITE.      131 

tho  old,  old  story  is  repeated,  until,  when  the  journey 
ends,  the  young  lady, 

"  Tying  her  bonnet  under  her  chin, 
Ties  a  young  man's  heart  within." 

The  morning  air  is  most  delicious.  We  pass  over 
barren  fields  into  pleasant  woods,  with  such  frequent 
change  of  team  as  keeps  the  wheels,  up  hill  and  down, 
flying  fast  beneath  us.  We  stop  for  dinner  at  Coarse 
Gold  Gulch,  where,  not  many  years  ago,  a  little  band 
of  miners  took  out  in  ten  days  ninety  thousand  dol- 
lars' worth  of  gold ;  but  as  they  took  it  all,  there  is 
no  occasion  for  us  to  stop  beyond  our  dinner,  and  so 
we  go  on,  through  the  pleasant  defiles,  beside  noisy 
streams,  with  little  touches  of  pastoral  scenery  close 
beside  the  road,  and,  as  we  wind  over  the  summits, 
magnificent  outlooks  of  vast  range  and  pleasant  val- 
leys. 

At  Fresno  Flats  we  find  a  pleasant  village  among 
the  hills,  and  from  this  on  the  road  is  almost  ideal 
in  beauty.  We  have  to  pass  yonder  range  of  moun- 
tains ;  but  so  marvellously  have  these  road-builders 
planned,  that  the  grade  is  such  an  easy  one  that, 
beneath  the  cracking  of  the  whip,  the  horses  with 
gentle,  easy  trot  carry  us  to  the  summit,  miles  away. 
In  the  greater  wonders  of  the  valley,  visitors  are 
apt  to  forget  the  beauty  of  the  approach.  The  jour- 
ney is  long,  the  sun  is  hot  here  among  the  hills, 


132  RAMBLES  OVERLAND. 

and  there  is  that  expectancy  that  hinders  admiration. 
But  the  road  all  the  way  is  a  delight,  —  winding  over 
the  hills  in  such  graceful  spirals,  opening  such  vistas 
of  enchantment  as  make  the  days,  despite  their  weari- 
ness, memorable  in  the  panorama  of  delights  they 
give.  More  than  once  we  are  on  great  summits  with 
lordly  mountains  looming  up ;  little  vales  of  Arcadian 
loveliness  are  entered,  and  just  in  the  soft  gloaming 
of  the  day  we  come  into  Fish  Camp,  a  tiny  valley 
set  round  with  hills,  with  such  soft,  lawn-like  turf 
and  shapely  trees  as  we  thought  could  be  found  no- 
where else  upon  the  earth  outside  of  the  English 
parks.  The  long  road,  too,  is  set  round  with  inimi- 
table decorations.  The  fields  are  brilliant  with  flow- 
ers, —  the  old  familiar  daisies  of  the  field,  ferns  with 
rare  delicacy  of  spraying  branch,  shrub  and  bush  as 
white  as  if  frosted  by  the  snow  of  a  winter's  day;  and 
everywhere  we  see  the  wonderful  manzanita,  so 
curious  in  its  bark  of  maroon  velvet,  so  gnarled  and 
twisted,  besetting  us  behind  and  before,  that  we  come 
at  last  to  have  most  tender  love  for  this  peculiar 
shrub.  So  the  day  draws  on,  each  hour  unfolding 
richer  beauties. 

Now,  farewell  to  fields  and  woods !  We  are  in  the 
California  forests.  The  light  is  soft  now,  filtered 
down  to  us  through  branches  a  hundred  feet  above 
our  heads.  Truly  did  the  old  artists  get  from  forest- 
trees  hint  of  the  Gothic  church,  and  easily  can  we 


THE  APPROACH  TO  THE  YOSEMITE.      133 

now  believe  that  "  the  groves  were  God's  first  tem- 
ples." How  majestic  are  these  mighty  pines  !  clean 
of  bark,  broad-rooted,  as  they  have  need  to  be  to  carry 
to  the  clouds  such  massiveness  of  bulk ;  with  great 
cones  of  green  absorbing  the  sunlight  a  hundred  feet 
above  us  on  the  pendent  boughs.  We  are  now  in  the 
region  of  the  Mariposa  Pines ;  just  beyond,  not  many 
miles  away,  are  the  monsters  that  were  growing  here 
beneath  the  sierras  before  the  white  man's  foot 
touched  the  shores  of  the  New  World;  and  these 
great  columns  that  bear  up  the  leafy  arches  of  this 
doubly  consecrated  temple  have  stood  here  ages  upon 
ages.  Almost  in  silence  we  pass  beside  these  mon- 
archs  of  the  woods,  looking  down  into  pleasant  vistas 
paved  with  such  rare  mosaics  as  the  sunlight  gives 
when  broken  by  the  branches ;  while 

"  Filled  is  the  air  with  a  dreaming  and  magical  light ;  and  the 

landscape 
Lies,  as  if  new-created,  in  all  the  freshness  of  childhood." 

Our  driver  will  leave  us  at  the  end  of  the  day's 
journey;  but  before  he  goes  he  will  show  us  how 
cunning  is  his  skilL  The  last  stage  of  the  drive  is 
but  four  miles,  on  a  down  grade  all  the  way,  full  of 
curves  and  twistings,  —  a  mountain  road  running 
above  deep  ravines,  with  no  intervening  rail  or  fence. 
With  foot  set  upon  the  brake,  with  such  volley  of 
speech  and  lash  as  these  Jehus  know  how  to  give, 


134  RAMBLES   OVERLAND. 

the  six  fresh  horses  are  started  on  their  mad  race; 
the  coach  sways,  as  it  whirls  around  the  narrow 
curves ;  straight  down  into  the  ravines  we  look,  we 
dare  not  say  how  far;  but  on  we  rush  like  the 
wind,  clinging  to  rail  and  seat,  every  muscle  of  the 
driver  tense,  and  the  horses  wild  with  the  excitement 
of  the  race.  So  we  come  to  Clarke's,  with  sixty  miles 
behind  us  as  the  journey  of  the  day,  and  when  we 
stand  upon  the  platform  we  find  that  we  have  made 
the  last  four  miles  in  a  trifle  less  than  seventeen 
minutes,  which  is  not  bad  travelling  for  a  public  six- 
horse  stage. 

From  Clarke's  we  make  d&our  by  special  coach  to 
the  Big  Trees.  There  are  eight  distinct  groves  of 
these  giants  in  California.  The  Mariposa  Pines  are 
six  miles  or  more  from  Clarke's,  on  an  altitude  as 
high  as  the  summit  of  Mount  Washington  above  the 
level  of  the  sea.  These  trees  are  set  apart  by  Gov- 
ernment for  perpetual  preservation  by  the  same  grant 
that  gave  the  Yosemite  to  the  State  of  California. 
The  trees  number  three  hundred  and  sixty-five.  They 
are  stumpy  in  appearance,  having  rich  brown,  spongy 
bark;  some  standing  alone,  others  in  groups.  The 
Grizzly  Bear  is  the  largest,  having  a  single  branch 
six  feet  in  diameter.  Twenty-two  of  us,  with  wide- 
extended  arms,  and  hands  joined  together,  are  neces- 
sary to  encircle  it ;  and  we  have  paused  in  our  writing 
to  measure  the  red  ball  of  twine  we  carried  with  us 


THE  APPROACH  TO  THE  YOSEMITE.       135 

and  stretched  around  the  tree.  At  the  risk  of  being 
called  a  second  Ananias,  we  give  the  measurement  as 
eighty-six  feet  and  eight  inches ;  although,  if  any  of 
sceptical  tendencies  doubt,  we  will  not  insist  on  the 
odd  inches.  We  drive  through  one,  Wawona,  —  it 
standing  directly  in  the  road,  —  and  we  are  able  to 
get  coach  and  four  horses  all  within  the  tree.  These 
monsters  are  impressive  things,  vaster  than  we  have 
dared  to  dream ;  but  curious  as  it  seems,  they  do  not 
impress  us  with  such  sense  of  majesty  as  the  more 
graceful  pines  that  yesterday  we  passed,  set  in  such 
beauty  in  the  inimitable  forest,  with  its  lights  and 
shadows. 

Twenty-five  miles  now  will  bring  us  to  the  valley. 
We  have  left  the  lordly  pines  behind,  but  there  are 
other  wonders  along  the  way.  Steep  climbings  on 
mountain  sides,  new  spirals  winding  up,  great  valleys 
dark  as  Erebus,  and,  nearer  yet  than  we  have  seen, 
the  vast  sierras  outlined  against  a  cloudless  sky. 
Should  we  turn  back  now,  without  the  vision  of  the 
valley,  we  would  be  content ;  for  all  along  the  way 
there  has  been  such  shifting  visions  of  delight  as  have 
made  the  journey  easy,  and  now  we  are  drawing  near 
to  the  holy  place ;  even  now  we  are  on  the  rim  of 
the  valley,  and  behind  the  veil  of  woods  the  wonder  is 
concealed.  By  brook  and  under  overhanging  cliff, 
above  the  precipice  and  the  dark  foliage  below,  we 
come  on  and  down ;  great  peaks  and  domes  spring 


136  RAMBLES  OVERLAND. 

into  view ;  the  wheelers  circle  round  a  ledge  of  rock  ; 
the  motion  ceases,  for  this  is  Inspiration  Point,  and 
there  beneath  us  is  Yosemite, — the  fairest,  love- 
liest valley  that  God  has  placed  on  the  whole  round 
earth. 


THE  YOSEMITE. 


Where'er  we  tread,  't  is  haunted,  holy  ground. 

BYEON. 


CHAPTER    IX. 

THE  YOSEMITK 

~T~VT"E  shall  not  attempt  the  impossible  task  of  de- 
*  »  scribing  the  Yosemite.  Had  we  ever  dreamed 
that  any  pen  could  so  fashion  words  as  to  give  even 
an  imperfect  picture  of  this  fair  valley,  the  dream 
flees  when  from  Inspiration  Point  we  look  down  into 
the  enchanted  land. 

We  are  on  the  rim  of  the  valley,  and  all  its  loveli- 
ness lies  half  a  mile  of  sheer  descent  below  us.  The 
valley  itself  is  a  picture  of  enchantment.  Through  all 
its  tiny  one-mile  breadth  there  is  an  intermingling  of 
forest  and  meadow,  green  fields  and  darker  shade  of 
shrub  and  tree ;  while  through  all  its  little  six-mile 
length  the  gentle  Merced  flows  in  such  enticing 
windings  as  never  wayward  water  found  before. 

On  the  journey  hither,  we  find  that  the  summer's 
drought  has  parched  the  fields,  and  they  are  sere  and 
brown,  but  wet  with  the  baptisms  of  these  mist- 
wreaths  hanging  like  draperies  from  the  sky ;  watered 
by  the  ever-flowing  Merced,  no  gardens  in  fabled 
Arabian  tales  ever  were  clothed  in  robes  so  green. 


140  RAMBLES   OVERLAND. 

The  royal  picture  has  more  than  royal  settings,  for 
it  is  framed  in  such  majesty  of  mountain,  dome,  pin- 
nacle, and  peak  as  nowhere  else  surrounds  so  fair  a 
spot  on  earth.  And  upon  all  this  —  the  river  winding 
amid  sunlit  meadows,  the  intermingling  field  and 
forest,  the  mighty  cliffs  lifting  their  Titanic  masonry 
half  a  mile  upward  to  the  clouds —  the  eye  rests  from 
this  mount  of  vision. 

The  descent  to  the  valley  reveals,  from  every  one 
of  its  innumerable  windings,  a  varying  scene.  El 
Capitan  becomes  appalling  as  we  come  near  to  the 
level  on  which  its  great  bulk  rests.  The  Cathedral 
Spires  seem  as  though  beneath  them  there  must  be  the 
mighty  arches  of  the  temple  which  they  crown,  while 
from  the  summit  of  the  valley  the  great  Domes  dis- 
pute empire  of  this  kingdom  with  El  Capitan,  sitting 
through  the  ages  here,  with  the  Merced  singing  at 
its  feet. 

We  will  not  profane  this  place  by  our  petty  meas- 
uring-rods, nor  even  attempt  to  give  the  catalogue  of 
wonders ;  there  is  not  in  mere  height  or  bulk  grandeur 
or  beauty,  and  it  is  mockery  to  prattle  of  names  and 
dimensions  when  we  are  beneath  the  overshadowing 
of  Omnipotence.  Travellers  have  written  that  not  at 
once  does  the  Yosemite  impress  itself,  —  that  one 
must  wait  in  silence  hours  and  days,  until  the  spirit 
of  the  place  weaves  its  magic  fascinations  around  the 
soul.  There  is  needed  for  us  no  such  waitings  for  the 


THE  YOSEMITE.  141 

spirit.  The  illimitable  majesty  of  rock  and  cliff,  the 
sense  of  immeasurable  height,  awe  the  soul,  while 
the  inimitable  beauty  of  meadow,  stream,  and  forest 
changes  awe  into  an  adoration  that  subdues  speech, 
and  fills  the  heart  with  such  nameless  rapture  as 
music  sometimes  brings.  Twice  before  have  we  felt 
that  sudden  hush  of  life,  as  though  the  inward  spirit 
was  awed  to  silence  in  the  presence  of  Omnipotence : 
once,  when  we  stood  upon  the  platform  in  the  forest 
and  saw  the  wonder-gorge  of  the  Yellowstone,  with  its 
majestic  sweep  and  its  transcendent  colors ;  and  again, 
when,  at  Canterbury,  we  stood  in  our  first  cathedral, 
and  heard  the  music  of  the  choir  chanting  the  evening 
prayers. 

We  have  no  heart  for  any  human  fellowship  in  our 
communings  with  the  spirit  of  Yoseraite.  The  pesti- 
lent guides  seek  to  force  us  to  vulgar  explorations, 
seeming,  in  their  bargainings,  like  those  who  once  sold 
doves  within  the  precincts  of  the  Temple ;  but  we  will 
not  see  the  holy  place  profaned  by  a  showman's  babble, 
and  so  we  let  the  tourists  all  drive  off,  while  alone  we 
sit  and  watch  the  meadows  and  the  hills. 

There  is  a  time  in  a  summer's  day  when  the  light 
is  soft  and  tender,  its  glare  is  gone,  its  heat  burned 
out,  — a  kind  of  Indian  summer  of  the  sun ;  and  when 
this  comes,  we  saunter  out  to  meet  the  spirit  of  the 
place.  We  have  open  doors  and  windows  for  it,  and 
with  the  first  step  upon  the  meadow  it  enters  in  and 


142  RAMBLES   OVERLAND. 

possesses  us  all  through  the  blessed  hours.  We  cross 
the  Merced  upon  the  bridge,  and,  turning  down  the 
valley,  pass  the  gypsies'  camp,  and  saunter  towards 
El  Capitan.  No  living  thing  in  all  the  valley  has 
dwelt  among  these  cliffs  so  long  as  this  river  here,  and 
we  know  that  in  all  these  years  it  must  have  learned 
where  the  largest  beauty  lies,  and  so  we  will  follow  it, 
rather  than  the  highway  that  man  has  made.  And 
the  gentle  Merced  never  betrays  us  in  all  the  journey 
of  the  day.  We  follow  all  its  windings ;  but  so  does  it 
sing  to  us  along  the  way,  uncovering  its  shining  peb- 
bles, displaying  with  every  artless  ripple  its  grace  of 
motion,  that  we  have  no  heart  to  chide  it,  though  it  is 
leading  us  by  tortuous  windings  into  the  darkness  of 
the  night. 

We  are  drawing  near  El  Capitan.  How  wonderful 
it  is!  Is  there  anywhere  on  earth  a  wall  of  stone 
with  such  Babel  aspirings  to  touch  the  skies  ?  Is  it 
the  light  softening  the  stone,  or  such  tempering  of  the 
granite  as  the  waste  of  ages  brings,  that  makes  the 
massive  rock  wear  a  kind  of  tenderness  as  though  it 
were  the  friend  and  not  the  enemy  of  man  ?  Were  it 
not  that  there  is  this  hint  of  something  that  in  living 
things  we  might  call  pity,  this  vast  massiveness  would 
repel  rather  than  charm,  as  now  it  does.  But  the 
Merced  whispers  to  us,  "  Look  at  me,  I  am  the  inter- 
preter of  El  Capitan ; "  and  there  in  its  placid  water 
we  see  the  mountain,  with  every  grace  of  drooping 


THE  YOSEMITE.  143 

line,  with  every  soft  weather-stain  and  arabesque  of 
fire,  frost,  and  sun,  canopied  even  in  this  magic 
mirror's  face  with  the  rare  tapestries  that  the  dying 
sun  loves  to  weave. 

This  is  the  El  Capitan  that  we  will  carry  with  us 
through  the  years,  robbed  by  the  Merced  of  not  one 
cubit  of  its  height,  changed  by  no  deception,  bearing 
every  scar  and  trace  of  sorrow  left  by  the  travail  that 
gave  it  birth,  but  somehow  glorified,  as  the  Lorraine 
glass  transforms  the  landscape ;  in  some  such  fashion, 
as  we  have  only  clumsy  wit  to  tell  about,  interpreted, 
as  the  master  painter,  giving  to  his  picture  all  that 
nature  gives,  adds  to  it  what  nature  lacks,  —  a  trans- 
forming soul 

From  the  river,  now  let  us  go  up  and  face  the 
mountain.  We  will  sit  here  and  trace  the  mighty 
wall,  inch  by  inch,  four  thousand  feet  to  where  it 
holds  the  old  sky  up.  The  eye  climbs  on  and  on ! 
Will  it  never  reach  the  summit  ?  How  broad  it 
is,  and  what  folly  is  it  for  this  puny  creature,  sitting 
here  upon  these  bowlders,  which  the  mountain  has 
hurled  down  and  never  missed,  to  be  attempting 
with  such  poor  things  as  human  words  to  describe 
such  wonder  as  El  Capitan !  We  have  seen  in  our 
journey  along  the  Merced  no  human  being ;  but  now, 
just  as  we  are  in  the  forest,  we  meet  two  stalwart 
Indians,  naked  to  the  waist,  of  such  hue  as  a  bur- 
nished shield  of  bronze  might  have.  So  into  the 


144  RAMBLES  OVERLAND. 

experiences  of  this  rare  summer's  walk  in  Yosemite 
there  enters  this  human  element,  which  adds  to 
our  remaining  journey  such  romance  as  busy  fancy 
weaves,  as  we  walk  along  in  the  gathering  twilight. 
Oh,  but  it  is  rare  sight  to  see  the  sun  kiss  good-night 
to  these  great  peaks!  The  lesser  ones  are  earliest 
touched,  as  children  first  are  put  to  rest ;  and  then 
one  by  one  the  higher  peaks  are  kissed  asleep,  and  the 
shadows  of  the  valley  have  company  in  the  mountain's 
shades.  We  are  far  away  now  from  our  shelter  for  the 
night;  the  Merced  must  be  crossed  before  we  can 
return,  and  there  is  yet  no  sign  of  bridge,  and  here 
in  the  forest  already  the  darkness  comes. 

But  what  matters  it,  so  long  as  nature  is  making, 
all  for  us  alone,  such  transformation  scenes.  We 
have  never  seen  before  that  night  comes  on  with 
such  glorious  pomp,  and  we  must  hereafter  notice,  if 
in  any  other  place,  night  comes  to  its  sovereignty 
with  such  ostentation. 

We  are  facing  now  the  rare  peaks  upon  the 
Merced's  other  bank;  the  vast  bulk  of  El  Capitan 
is  behind  us,  but  here  are  sharp  spires,  like  the 
Aiguilles  that  sentinel  Mont  Blanc,  springing  up 
and  up,  as  never  temple  spires  towered,  and  yet 
carved  in  such  symmetry  as  Strasburg's  spire  never 
had.  While  we  stand  in  the  darkness,  awed  by 
these,  a  faint  light,  gilds  the  crest  of  Cathedral 
Eock,  and  soon,  in  its  fair  centre,  there  is  set  the 


THE  YOSEMITE.  145 

crescent  of  the  moon,  poised  with  such  faultless 
evenness  as  a  cunning  craftsman  might  use  in  set- 
ting jewel  in  the  centre  of  a  crown.  We  are  in 
the  midst  of  marvels,  and  shall  not  wonder,  whatever 
happens ;  but  while  the  light  hovers  there,  we  can  but 
ask  ourselves  by  what  right  of  conquest  the  Crescent 
rather  than  the  Cross  is  placed  upon  this  temple  not 
made  with  hands. 

We  have  crossed  the  Merced  now,  and  are  home- 
ward bound.  There  is  no  sign  of  light,  nor  any 
sound  of  wheel  or  human  voice ;  but  there  are  such 
rare  odors  as  the  woods  distil  beneath  the  gentle 
pressure  of  the  darkness,  and  such  tender  whisper- 
ings as  the  pine-trees  give  when  the  day  is  dead.  So 
we  come  homeward,  silent  and  alone,  —  yet  not  alone, 
for  the  moon  makes  such  little  light  that  there  is 
faintest  shadow  of  human  form,  as  though  our  spirit 
is  disembodied  and  walks  beside  us,  or  as  if  the  spirit 
of  the  valley  is  giving  us  guidance  home,  while  through 
the  meadows  the  gentle  Merced  winds  along,  cheering 
us  in  the  darkness  with  the 

"Beauty  bora  of  murmuring  sound." 

Right  behind  our  chamber  window  all  night  long 
stands  the  old  Indian  Loya  or  Sentinel,  a  single  shaft 
of  rock,  symmetrical  as  an  Eyptian  obelisk.  Take 
the  tape-line  in  your  teeth  and  climb  this  pillar,  and 
hang  the  line  upon  some  rocky  splinter  on  the  sum- 

10 


146  RAMBLES   OVERLAND. 

mit  of  the  spire,  you  shall  measure  off  the  tally  of 
three  thousand  feet  before  your  work  is  done.  No 
other  peaks  save  El  Capitan  divide  supremacy  of 
height  with  this  eternal  sentry,  while  in  simple  grace, 
in  light  and  airy  pose  of  station,  it  has  no  rival  in 
this  fair  valley. 

We  steal  off  alone,  to  make,  in  the  early  morning, 
pilgrimage  to  see  the  sun  paint  the  picture  of  the 
mountains  in  Mirror  Lake.  The  landlord  uses  every 
art  to  dissuade  us,  fearing,  with  such  solicitude  as  we 
can  easily  interpret,  that  we  shall  be  unable,  without 
serious  fatigue,  to  make  on  foot  the  journey.  But  we 
have  come  across  the  continent  to  see  this  Yosemite 
in  the  way  we  best  love ;  so  in  such  delicious  morn- 
ing air  and  light  as  belong  here  we  make  our  pilgrim- 
age. Following  up  the  Merced's  trail  to  where  it 
leaves  us  to  climb  into  the  mountain,  across  the  fields 
by  little  pasture  paths,  in  and  out  among  the  rocks, 
we  come  at  last  to  the  little  lake. 

The  North  and  South  Domes  are  above  this  moun- 
tain tarn,  while  towering  over  all,  ten  thousand  feet 
above  the  level  of  the  sea,  is  Cloud's  Eest,  the  defiant 
Jove  in  this  pantheon  of  the  gods. 

The  way  has  narrowed  now,  and  if  we  will  make 
further  exploration  we  must  turn  back  and  go  east- 
ward into  the  valley  out  of  which  the  Merced  comes. 
But  we  will  not  go  till  we  see  the  fashion  in  which 
the  sun  leads  his  armies  to  the  conquest  of  Yosem- 


THE  YOSEMITE.  147 

ite.  Above  the  eastern  Dome,  Tisayac,  already  there 
is  the  orange  tinge  which  colors  the  liveries  of  the 
heralds  that  go  before  the  king ;  the  mountain's  crest 
is  gilded  now,  the  gold  changes  .to  a  flaming  fire,  and 
out  of  the  fire  comes  the  king  to  rule  the  day.  Mean- 
time on  every  peak  the  courtiers  stand,  crying  "  The 
king  has  come ! "  The  sun's  banners  are  hung  every- 
where on  cliff  and  peak ;  the  very  woods  are  driving 
off  the  shadows  that  inhabit  them ;  the  Merced's  rip- 
ples glisten  like  the  silver  scales  of  a  knight's  armor ; 
the  night  has  gone,  and  above  Yosemite 

"  Jocund  day 
Stands  tiptoe  on  the  misty  mountain-tops." 

Shall  we  stand  here  and  watch  Tisayac,  the  god- 
dess of  the  valley,  taking  her  morning's  peep  into  the 
mirror  of  her  chamber?  Even  the  goddesses  may 
have  the  pleasant  vanity  that  lesser  beauty  is  dow- 
ered with ;  and  modesty  and  prudence,  too,  tell  us  that 
man's  clumsy  vision  had  best  not  see  how  tenderly 
a  beauty  rising  from  her  sleep  first  pays  tribute  to 
herself,  nor  learn  the  cunning  arts  by  which  even  a 
goddess,  before  her  mirror's  face,  fashions  her  beauty 
for  the  tribute  of  her  worshippers. 

Backward  now  a  little  way,  then  eastward  into  the 
canon  from  which  the  Merced  flows,  we  will  go  up 
to  the  sources  of  the  river,  far  beyond  the  forests, 
toward  the  mighty  peaks. 


148  RAMBLES  OVEBLAND. 

There  are  steep  climbings  in  the  way,  and  we  put 
beneath  us  the  four  sure  feet  of  one  of  the  poor  mules 
doomed  by  some  irony  of  fate  to  endless  service  in 
Yosemite.  He  does  not  greet  our  coming  as  tired 
watchers  hail  the  day,  nor  rejoice  as  a  strong  man  to 
run  a  race ;  we  know  that  he  has  been  in  hiding,  that 
he  might  escape  us, — for  the  guides  tell  us  that  these 
fellows  even  climb  the  trees  to  hide  from  their  tor- 
mentors :  but  we  try  and  tell  him  that  we  are  not  to 
blame  for  his  misfortune,  and  that  if  he  will  safely 
carry  us,  keeping  silence  of  all  his  troubles,  we  will 
give  him  such  decent  treatment  as  he  never  had; 
keeping  silence,  too,  of  our  own  misfortunes,  and 
showing  him  how  wondrously  kind,  even  in  Yosem- 
ite, we  can  be  made  by  a  fellow-feeling. 

The  Appian  Way  never  had  such  wondrous  things 
beside  it  as  ornament  the  simplest  mountain-path 
that  trails  through  a  forest  to  the  clouds.  We  have 
seen  on  nameless  New  England  hills  such  marvels  of 
mossy  rock,  such  entrancing  lights  and  shades,  such 
forest  architecture  and  leafy  decorations,  as  have 
changed  weariness  to  delight,  and  transformed  a 
pathway  to  an  upland  pasture  into  a  highway  to 
the  chambers  of  the  gods. 

But  all  the  wonders  are  not  here  beside  the  path  : 
we  are  climbing  into  an  amphitheatre  set  round  with 
such  sculpturings  as  Omnipotence  carves  when  it 
would  make  a  masterpiece.  .  Liberty  Cap,  the  Half 


THE   YOSEMITE.  149 

Dome,  before ;  the  mighty  wall  of  Glacier  Point  be- 
hind; beyond,  the  fair  valley;  around,  marvels  of 
forest,  cliff,  and  waterfall.  It  is  all  wonderful,  in- 
describable ;  majestic  strength  married  to  majestic 
beauty. 

We  have  come  to  the  great  wall  of  stone  which 
makes  a  barrier  to  advance ;  and  over  this,  six  hun- 
dred feet,  comes  Nevada  Falls,  one  of  the  grandest 
cataracts  the  world  contains.  The  settings  are  of 
incomparable  grandeur;  for  the  Cap  of  Liberty  towers 
over  it,  and  the  wall  of  stone,  down  which  the  torrent 
falls,  is  such  a  one  as  Titans  might  build  to  guard 
their  citadels.  The  water  comes  over  the  crest  with 
great,  forceful  might  and  volume ;  angered  with  inter- 
posing obstacles,  it  breaks  into  little  petulancies,  — 
bursting  out  in  passion  freaks,  stormy  froth  and 
foam,  but,  changing  speedily  into  pleasantness,  it 
weaves  itself  into  such  magic  lace-work  as  water 
never  fashioned  elsewhere  in  the  world,  while  in 
very  ecstasy  of  power  ijt  toys  and  plays  with  the  fall- 
ing water,  tossing  it  as  a  magician's  balls,  and  chang- 
ing it  by  some  rare  necromancy  into  mist  and  vapor. 

Downward  into  the  valley  a  mile  or  more  the 
water,  having  rested  in  the  journeying,  leaps  again  in 
Vernal  Falls  four  hundred  feet.  It  makes  the  spring, 
not  only  because  there  is  no  other  pathway  to  the 
sea,  but  in  sportiveness  as  well ;  for  do  we  not  see, 
when  we  come  below,  the  rainbow-ring  which  the 


150  BAMBLES   OVERLAND. 

fairies  hold  for  it  to  jump  through,  if  it  can  ?  But 
so  does  the  water  forget  the  taunting  of  the  fairies, 
and  stop  to  braid  its  lace-work  fashionings  and  weave 
its  gossamers  over  all  its  journey  down,  that  it  misses 
the  golden  ring  which  the  fairies  hold,  —  unless,  per- 
haps, they  with  naughtiness  have  turned  the  golden 
ring  aside,  that  they  might  laugh  at  the  discomfiture. 
The  ride  homeward  brings  relief  to  the  long  tension 
of  the  day's  admiring.  We  have  left  behind  —  ungal- 
lant  fellows  that  we  are !  —  the  bedraggled  women  who 
kept  us  on  the  upward  road,  conscious  of  the  misera- 
bleness  of  life.  They  were  strangers  to  us ;  but  this 
is  no  excuse  for  lack  of  service.  They  were  not 
beauty  incarnated;  but  women  cannot  all  be  fair, 
and  we  think  the  little  remnant  of  the  conscience 
that  yet  abides  with  us  would  have  made  us  reason- 
ably attentive,  for  duty's  sake.  But  when  upon  a 
mountain  path  one  is  sandwiched  between  a  dowager 
long  gone  forty,  fat,  too,  though  not  fair,  and  a  maiden 
not  yet  forty,  though  neither  faf  nor  fair,  and  the  shut- 
tle of  an  endless  prattle  is  flying  back  and  forth  beside 
our  ears  all  through  the  weary  climbings  of  the  day  ; 
when,  too,  we  are  half  the  time  dismounting  to  fix 
girt  and  rein,  to  pick  up  shawl  and  wrap ;  when  in  the 
endless  gettings  down  we  have  to  catch  good  armsful 
of  perspiring  beauty,  and  in  the  gettings  up  to  lift 
with  most  muscular  gallantry  these  fair  creatures, 
with  scream  and  ejaculation,  smothering  all  the  time  a 


THE   YOSEMITE.  151 

wicked  swear  behind  a  smiling  face,  —  it  is  not  won- 
derful when,  by  some  good  ordering  of  our  fates, 
we  chanced  to  be  ahead  on  the  downward  road,  that 
with  whip  and  spur  we  should  have  fled  like  new  St. 
Benedicts,  leaving  the  ladies  far  behind,  to  wreak  their 
prattle  on  the  guide,  who,  being  a  bachelor  of  years, 
doubtless  needed  such  grace  as  comes  from  woman, 
whom,  the  poet  says, 

"Nature  made  to  temper  man." 

Away  from  the  mountain,  we  are  now  on  the  val- 
ley road  which  goes  beside  the  Merced  homeward. 
There  has  been  no  chance  upon  the  mountains  for 
such  exhilaration  as  rapid  riding  gives,  and  so  now 
in  mad  racings  we  go  down  the  valley,  forget- 
ting the  decorum  which  belongs  to  men  of  age  and 
soberness. 

The  more  active  of  our  party  are  with  us  now :  the 
Reporter,  mounted  on  a  spiteful  mule  called  Jesse 
James,  most  curiously  ornamented  with  a  tail  half- 
shingled  in  double  flounces ;  another,  riding  the  mate, 
though  not  banged  as  the  namesake  of  the  bandit ;  the 
mule  we  ride  is  fashionable  in  color,  being  of  the  old- 
gold  shade,  but  having  the  quintessence  of  all  the  lazi- 
ness ever  given  to  mules  since  the  world  was.  We  have 
not  sounded  yet  the  depths  of  his  depravity ;  so  when 
one  of  the  youngsters  of  the  party  drops  behind  and 
mildly  asks  us  to  take  the  part  of  prompter  in  a  little 


152  RAMBLES   OVERLAND. 

panorama  planned,  we  readily  assent,  desiring  in  good 
faith  to  do  our  humble  part. 

The  conspiracy  is  this.  The  Senator  is  making  his 
first  equestrian  ride  this  day.  He  is  of  the  long  and 
Cassius  kind  of  men,  whose  legs  were  somewhat  over- 
done, by  Nature,  leaving  slight  residue  of  matter  with 
which  to  make  his  body.  He  is  by  no  means  dispro- 
portioned,  except  when  mounted  on  a  horse ;  and  then 
it  is  simply  honest  candor  to  say  that  he  does  not  look 
like  a  centaur, — animal  and  rider  one,  —  as  perhaps 
those  of  us  mounted  on  the  mules  appear.  He  sits, 
or,  perhaps  to  be  more  accurate,  is  folded,  round  a  large 
brindle-shaded  horse,  not  over-sanguine  in  his  temper- 
ament, though  one  cannot  always  tell  what  latent 
traits  may  be  developed  even  in  a  horse  under  provo- 
cation. Whenever  this  piebald  brute  essays  to  trot, 
the  Senator  drops  the  reins  and  clings  to  the  saddle's 
pommel,  beseeching  us  that  we  go  slower,  as  becomes 
a  senator  who  has  never  before  been  astride  a  horse. 
The  young  men  suggest  to  us  that  they  would  get 
themselves  on  each  side  of  the  Senator,  and  we  should 
come  close  behind,  and  then  at  a  given  signal  we 
should  start  the  cavalcade  in  such  mad  flight  as  whip 
and  spur  could  give,  each  helping,  as  he  could  spare 
belaborings  from  his  own  horse,  to  urge  on  the  Sena- 
tor's steed,  which,  by  reason  of  being  the  larger  animal, 
and  the  rider's  hands  being  occupied,  would  doubtless 
need  such  help  as  we  could  give. 


THE   YOSEMTTK  153 

We  do  not  remember  at  this  writing  just  the  things 
we  said  to  break  up  the  conspiracy ;  we  know  that  it 
struck  us  at  the  time  that  we  had  a  most  excellent 
place,  as  we  rode  behind,  to  see  the  celebration,  and 
that,  so  far  as  whip  and  spur  could  help  us,  we  would 
keep  as  near  the  festivities  as  might  be  possible. 

With  a  mad  "hurrah !"  the  young  men  start,  deliver- 
ing every  alternate  stroke  upon  the  towering  horse  on 
which  the  Senator  all  unconscious  sits.  The  maddest 
gallop  now  takes  place ;  the  Senator  clinging  with  per- 
sistent grip  to  mane  and  saddle,  the  tormenting  youths 
applying  whip,  and  laughing  in  wildest  glee  at  the 
tossings  of  the  victim  of  their  sport.  But  the  old 
piebald  is  warming  with  the  fires  of  other  days ;  the 
boys  have  need  of  all  their  energies  upon  their  own 
beasts,  for  the  Senator  is  far  ahead,  riding  in  such  mad 
speed  as  the  old  mare  has  not  made  for  twenty  years 
at  least,  while  despite  the  endeavors  of  the  boys,  urged 
on,  too,  by  the  taunting  derision  of  the  Senator,  the 
twin  mules  stagger  on  in  the  proverbial  discomfort  of 
a  stern  race. 

We,  at  least,  have  easy  conscience ;  not  by  one 
stroke  do  we  urge  on  the  assailed  steed,  for  despite 
such  thrashings  as  we  never  gave  or  took  before, 
we  cannot  keep  within  gunshot  of  the  flying  crowd, 
finding  only  such  consolation  as  comes  from  a  con- 
science void  of  offence,  and  the  elaboration  of  the 
hypothesis,  that  while  the  old-gold  shade  is  in  good 


154  RAMBLES   OVERLAND. 

form  as  a  color,  it  is  not  favorable  to  high  speed  in 
mules. 

We  do  not  like  to  say  a  word  against  either  a 
bridge  or  a  mule  that  has  safely  carried  us,  but  we  do 
not  think  that  we  are  treated  quite  with  fairness. 
The  other  boys,  dismounted,  are  on  the  piazza  when 
we  arrive.  The  entire  company  of  the  hotel  are  with 
them,  too.  We  plan  to  ride  to  the  platform  and  give 
our  mule  to  the  boy  in  waiting  to  take  to  the  stable. 
But  the  mule  has  his  own  private  plans.  He  is  no 
stickler  for  forms,  and  has  no  preference  for  the  boy 
over  his  present  rider.  He  bolts  for  the  stable  by  a 
short  cut.  Our  own  plan  is  to  let  him  go,  but  the 
entire  company  derides  us. 

We  then  try  to  coax  or  drive  him  to  the  steps. 
But,  no,  though  we  stop  him,  so  often  as  we  pull  he 
turns  his  long  face  round,  laying  his  appealing  nose 
upon  us,  while  his  feet  beneath,  without  the  diverg- 
ence of  a  hair,  keep  right  on  toward  the  stable  door. 
We  manage,  under  the  spur  of  the  derision  of  the 
company,  to  even  get  him  pointed  toward  the  house ; 
but  the  rascal  is  a  double-actioned  fellow,  and  is  going 
backward  in  the  direction  of  his  crib.  The  strategy 
of  a  leader  sometimes  rises  in  emergency :  we  let  him 
go,  steering  him  as  best  we  can,  until  at  last  we  have 
backed  him  up  against  a  huge  tree,  which  holds  him 
fast.  We  have  stopped  him ;  but  this  is  not  victory. 
The  taunts  come  thick  and  fast  from  the  hotel,  when, 


THE   Y08EMITE.  155 

elated  by  our  partial  triumph,  we  steer  him  off  from 
the  place  where  he  is  stranded,  hoping  now  by  some 
favoring  tack  to  fetch  the  stoop.  But  the  mule  has 
the  courage  of  his  convictions,  and  steers  straight  for 
the  stable  door,  and  were  it  not  that  a  friendly  hostler 
catches  him  at  the  threshold,  we  should  not  now  be 
living  to  tell  the  tale  of  our  discomfiture. 

We  cannot  describe  all  our  hours  in  Yosemite. 
We  have  no  space  to  tell  of  the  rare  beauty  of  the 
Bridal  Veil,  the  Merced's  meadows,  the  vast  peaks, 
the  thousand  fascinations  of  the  enchanted  valley; 
and  had  we  space,  our  words  would  only  be  a  wit- 
ness against  us  of  the  folly  of  an  ambition  that  dares 
to  describe  what  is  indescribable. 

We  will  go  out  of  the  valley  by  the  way  of  Glacier 
Point,  which  is  up  these  walls  three  thousand  feet. 

Oh,  but  it  is  a  rare  walk  we  have  in  the  Indian 
summer  of  the  day !  Every  peak  and  waterfall,  the 
winding  Merced  in  all  its  length,  are  here  before  us ; 
and  each  terrace  that  we  climb,  and  every  point  we 
round,  and  every  little  summit  we  surmount,  is  a 
place  of  revelation.  So  upward,  five  miles  or  more, 
we  go  on  this  blessed  summer's  day,  coming  to  fairer 
loveliness  with  each  advance,  wondering  how  Nature 
can  surpass  this  scene,  and  yet  finding  at  the  next 
turning  of  the  road  that  even  Nature  can  outdo  her- 
self. So  we  come  to  the  very  taberuacle  of  the  Most 
High,— 


156  RAMBLES   OVERLAND. 

"  Mounting  to  Paradise 
By  the  stairway  of  surprise." 

Not  once,  but  many  times,  do  we  stand  that  night 
on  the  dizzy  height  and  look  down  into  the  valley, 
sweep  the  heavens  with  our  vision,  and  see  with  what 
audacity  the  great  peaks  have  almost  finished  the  task 
of  reaching  heaven  which  the  babel-builders  left  in- 
complete. We  look  eastward  to  the  great  cleft  in 
the  fairest  mountains  on  the  continent,  where  Nevada 
and  Vernal  Falls  make  the  sources  of  the  Merced's 
loveliness.  We  watch  the  sun  go  down  ;  we  see  over 
the  Sierras  the  sun  rise  to  give  the  world  another  day, 
and  through  the  night  such  glory  as  we  never  expect 
to  see  again  upon  the  earth. 

And  now  the  hour  of  parting  comes,  and  as  guilty 
mothers  who  desert  their  children  kiss  them  in  their 
cradles  and  flee  away,  so  while  yet  the  darkness  rests 
upon  the  valley  we  will  whisper  peace  and  farewell, 
and  hasten  from  Yosemite. 


TOE  ORANGE-LAND   OF  CALIFORNIA. 


And  I  said,  "  If  there's  peace  to  be  found  in  the  world, 
A  heart  that  was  humble  might  hope  for  it  here." 

THOMAS  MOORE. 


CHAPTER  X. 

THE  ORANGE-LAND  OF  CALIFORNIA. 


PASSADENA. 

IN  the  plannings  of  our  trip,  nothing  held  greater 
place  than  the  sunny  orange-groves  of  Southern 
California.  Some  one  has  said,  "  There  is  a  wild  man 
sleeping  at  the  bottom  of  every  drop  of  blood  in  hu- 
man veins ; "  and  we  are  certain  of  it,  for  we  have 
strange  love  for  vines  and  flowers,  the  tangles  of  un- 
tamed woods,  and  most  devoutly  hold  that  next  to  a 
little  child  a  tree  is  the  fairest  thing  God  ever  made. 
There  is  no  spot  in  Europe  so  beautiful  as  the  plains 
of  Lombardy,  between  the  alabaster  spires  of  the 
Cathedral  of  Milan  and  the  Alps.  Patient  industry 
has  softened  the  ledges  into  soil,  and  the  fruits  of 
every  zone  have  changed  the  fields  into  a  magician's 
gardens.  The  orange  and  lemon,  great  thickets  of 
oleander  with  spikes  of  pink  like  flames  of  fire,  the 
darker  cypress,  laurel,  and  myrtle,  all  are  here,  and 
the  tourist  walks  among  them  with  wondering  appre- 
hension lest  the  conjuror's  spell  will  break  and  the 


160  RAMBLES   OVERLAND. 

fair  vision  pass  away.  The  Alps  brood  over  this  scene, 
and  above  the  twining  vines  of  this  delicious  region 
there  is  the  subtle  tropic  air  which  makes  the  days 
spent  on  the  shores  of  Maggiore  days  of  enchantment. 
Southern  California  in  many  ways  rivals  this  fair 
spot  in  Italy.  The  mountains  are  here  as  they  are 
there  ;  not  lofty  like  the  Alps,  nor  covered  with  eter- 
nal snows,  but  scarred  with  such  traceries  as  old  Time 
makes.  There  is  lacking,  too,  the  subtle  charm  of 
water,  which,  Goethe  says,  "  is  to  the  landscape  what 
the  eye  is  to  the  human  face ; "  but  there  is  here  the 
same  luxuriance  of  nature,  the  splendor  of  the  same 
foliage,  the  same  grace  of  color,  the  magic  of  the  same 
sensuous,  dreamy  atmosphere.  Nature  is  prodigal  of 
her  favors  here,  and  it  was  not  wonderful  that  under 
the  shadow  of  the  old  Spanish  missions  there  should 
have  been  distilled  out  of  this  perpetual  sunshine  a 
dreamy  life,  lacking  the  high  endeavor  nurtured  in 
fields  where  Nature  more  niggardly  guards  her  riches. 
It  is  a  land  almost  of  eternal  summer,  and  here  be- 
tween the  sea  and  the  mountains  is  the  place 

"  Where  Winter  keeps  watch  and  ward, 

With  Summer  asleep  at  its  feet ; 
Stands  guard  with  a  silver  sword, 
Where  the  Junes  and  Decembers  meet." 

There  is  something,  too,  in  these  pleasant  names  of 
Los  Angeles,  Passadena,  Sierra  Madre,  San  Gabriel, 
akin  to  the  fair  names  of  Baveno,  Pallanza,  Fariolo ; 


THE  ORANGE-LAND  OF  CALIFORNIA.  161 

and  these  orange-groves  and  vineyards,  the  ranches 
where  the  shepherd  tending  his  flocks  lazily  watches 
for  the  far-off  islands  of  the  Pacific,  the  pleasant 
nooks  where  the  bee-fanner  lives  among  the  flowers 
watching  the  gathering  of  the  honey,  seem  not  unlike 
the  things  of  which  Virgil  sang  in  his  old  pastorals. 

The  city  of  Los  Angeles  has  many  curious  things 
for  one  who  will  get  beneath  its  outward  New  Eng- 
land bustle,  and  find  the  old  flavor  of  its  Spanish 
life.  There  are  quaint  buildings  of  the  old  Mission 
days,  streets  where  the  Spanish  names,  half-faded  out, 
are  still  upon  the  battered  adobe  walls ;  and  in  these 
crowds  which  throng  the  sidewalks  one  sees  the  pe- 
culiar type  of  Mexican  face,  and  the  quaint  dress  of 
the  Southern  nation  that  once  ruled  here. 

We  have  little  love,  however,  for  the  cities  that  lie 
along  the  way.  They  differ  in  outward  details,  but  the 
places  of  business  have  essentially  the  same  life. 

We  have  come  to  see  the  Orange  Groves.  We  will 
take  a  span  of  horses  in  the  lightest  buggy  we  can 
find,  that  we  may  make  long  journey  and  catch  the 
exhilaration  that  comes  from  rapid  flight.  There  is 
rare  charm  about  this  morning  air,  and  our  gallant 
steeds  are  entering  jubilantly  into  the  glory  of  the 
journey,  and  we  can  almost  feel — in  the  quivering  of 
the  lines  and  the  exultant  pride  with  which  they  bear 
us  —  that  they  know  they  will  give  us  rare  surprises 
before  the  stars  come  out. 

11 


162  RAMBLES   OVERLAND. 

The  way  is  dreary  at  the  first,  for  the  dust  is  thick 
and  the  fields  are  parched,  the  watercourses  every- 
where are  dry,  and  the  cotton-woods  that  are  sheltered 
in  the  little  gulches  are  gray  with  dust,  like  olive- 
trees. 

We  rise  to  higher  levels,  and  here  before  us  are 
the  wonders  we  have  come  to  see.  What  has  hap- 
pened to  the  soil  ?  It  has  changed  from  a  desert  to 
a  garden !  Orange,  lemon,  apricot,  walnut  trees,  so 
lustrous  in  their  rich  greens,  set  in  such  long  lines 
that  one  can  look  as  through  a  vista  into  fairer  fields 
beyond. 

We  have  read  somewhere  that  these  long  lines 
grow  monotonously  weary  with  continuance  of  seeing, 
and  that  the  brown  earth  beneath  robs,  by  contrast, 
the  trees  of  loveliness;  but  we  only  see  the  trees 
themselves,  smooth  of  trunk  like  young  apple-trees 
in  a  New  England  orchard, — a  little  short,  perhaps, 
for  perfect  symmetry,  but  wondrously  fair,  with  their 
deep,  rich  foliage  starred  with  golden  fruit 

The  mountains  always  are  in  sight ;  the  road  winds 
upward  to  pleasant  slopes,  from  which  the  great  val- 
ley running  to  the  sea  is  seen ;  in  the  zanjas,  or  irri- 
gating ditches,  the  water  flashes,  as  though  from  the 
mountains  a  stream  of  diamonds  floated  down  to 
adorn  the  orange-trees ;  the  tiny  cottage  of  the  small 
farmer,  the  semi-palatial  residence  of  the  rich,  are  set 
backward  from  the  road  in  the  midst  of  flowers  and 


THE  ORANGE-LAND   OF  CALIFORNIA.  163 

clambering  vines ;  the  workmen  are  making  little 
trenches  beneath  the  trees  for  to-morrow's  watering, 
and  beside  the  road  hedges  grow,  and  flowering 
plants,  in  the  full  luxuriance  that  comes  from  the 
magic  water  flowing  at  their  feet.  This  is  Passadena, 
the  paradise  of  fruit  and  flowers. 

The  Sierra  Madre  Mountains  through  the  ages 
have  sent  down  their  soil  to  make  these  fields,  and 
from  the  mountains  comes  the  water  that  has  changed 
this  desert  to  such  beauty.  These  orange-groves,  the 
flowers  that  girdle  these  little  homes,  these  vineyards 
bending  now  with  the  coming  vintage,  all  have  come 
from  "  the  rivers  which  run  among  the  hills,"  making 
Passadena,  if  only  it  had  the  old  associations  of  other 
lands,  hardly  less  fair  than  the  towns  of  Northern 
Italy. 

But  our  pleasant  musings  here  beside  the  orange- 
trees  are  interrupted.  The  road  is  hard  as  steel,  and 
so  smoothly  roll  our  wheels  along,  and  there  is  such 
exhilaration  in  the  air,  that  when  our  bay  and  sorrel 
at  the  pole  stretch  out  a  little,  just  to  try  their  paces 
on  the  Passadena  boulevard,  we  have  no  sort  of  heart 
to  restrain  their  racings,  but  let  them  go  in  mad  John 
Gilpin  flight,  confident  that  somehow  we  can  ride  as 
fast  as  they  can  carry  us. 

We  have  just  finished  a  little  spurt  like  this,  and 
have  come  down  to  such  steady,  even-goings  as  is  the 
normal  action  of  a  livery  team,  when,  without  hint  of 


164  RAMBLES   OVERLAND. 

warning,  the  horses  loom  above  us,  the  carriage  is 
climbing  over  and  collapsing  round  us,  while  the 
nigh  front  wheel  which  has  journeyed  with  us  all 
the  way  is  running  off  alone  into  the  ditch  to  escape 
the  catastrophe.  We  are  tumbled  up  against  the 
carriage  side ;  our  companion  rests  serenely  over  us ; 
we  cannot  quite  gather  the  reins  to  hold  the  horses ; 
and  there  is  a  kind  of  dancing,  ominous  motion  in  the 
sorrel's  heels  which  does  not  please  us,  as  on  three 
wheels,  with  a  tottering,  swaying  buggy,  we  try  to 
extricate  ourselves. 

The  last  spurt  did  the  business  for  us;  for  the 
horses  have  not  yet  got  wind  enough  to  drag  these 
frightened  Yankees  through  the  rest  of  Passadena  in 
a  three-wheeled  buggy,  and  while  the  horses  are  hesi- 
tating as  to  whether  it  will  pay  to  kick,  in  a  kind  of 
miscellaneous  rolling  out  we  disembark  and  place 
ourselves  at  their  other  end,  where  greater  safety 
lies. 

There  is  nothing  flattering  to  the  pride  of  an  ambi- 
tious tourist  in  being  away  from  home  with  a  pair  of 
strange  horses,  and  this  kind  of  a  tricycle  carriage. 
Even  the  orange-trees  fail  to  fascinate.  We  fish  the 
stray  wheel  out  of  the  irrigating  ditch  to  find  that 
the  nut  which  holds  it  on  is  placed  at  the  back  of  the 
wheel  in  place  of  the  front  of  the  hub,  and  only  the 
blacksmith's  wrench  and  file,  a  mile  away,  can  serve 
us.  So  out  into  the  Passadena  dust  we  get,  our  com- 


THE   ORANGE-LAND   OF  CALIFORNIA.  165 

panion  driving  as  the  ploughboys  do  within  the 
fields,  and  —  shall  we  say  it  ?  —  we  jogging  on  beside 
the  treacherous  wheel,  punching  it  on  with  our  guide- 
book whenever  it  shows  signs  of  again  "taking 
water." 

We  are  now  in  sight  of  the  little  village,  but  have 
no  heart  to  thus  enter  it ;  and  so  by  way  of  experi- 
ment we  get  into  the  carriage,  hoping,  when  the  wheel 
shows  signs  of  coming  off,  we  can  stop,  and  from 
within  pull  or  from  without  punch  it  on. 

So  we  come  into  Passadena,  —  not  proudly  as  we 
had  hoped,  but  with  humility  of  spirit ;  and  while  we 
cannot  tell  one  word  about  the  houses  that  are  in  the 
village,  we  can  tell  the  number  of  the  spokes,  the  color 
of  the  felloes,  the  full  particulars  of  all  the  scenery 
of  that  detested  wheel.  The  sooty  fellow  who  serves 
us  at  the  shop  is  laconic  in  his  speech,  for  when  we 
ask  him,  as  we  start,  what  we  have  need  to  do,  he 
simply  answers :  "  Drive  slow,  watch  your  wheel,  and 
go  back  and  give  the  owner  Hades," — though  he  uses 
a  different  translation  of  the  closing  word. 

The  Sierra  Madre  Villa  is  just  under  the  shadow 
of  the  mountains,  far  up  on  the  slope,  with  the  great 
valley  in  all  its  loveliness  spread  like  a  picture  at  our 
feet. 

The  house  is  owned  by  an  artist,  but  is  kept  as  a 
hotel ;  it  is  beautiful  in  architecture,  and  surpassingly 
fortunate  in  its  location.  The  view  is  matchless, — 


166  RAMBLES   OVERLAND. 

mountain  and  field,  orchard  and  vineyard,  intermin- 
gling with  far-off  ranges,  and  fair  trees  shading  the 
piazza  where  we  sit.  The  honeysuckle  covers  the 
trellis  of  the  house ;  a  lawn  kept  green  with  flowing 
fountains  is  set  round  with  flowering  shrubs;  and 
here  is  fruit  of  every  kind :  the  golden  orange,  the 
lighter-hued  lemon,  the  purple  fig,  apricots,  necta- 
rines, peaches,  and  such  great  clusters  as  the  spies  of 
Israel  brought  back  from  Eshcol. 

We  take  long  siesta  here,  yielding  to  the  seductive 
witcheries  of  this  fair  spot,  —  plucking  golden  fruit 
from  greenest  branch,  robbing  vines  of  delicious  clus- 
ters, eating  the  rich,  ripe  figs  from  overhanging 
boughs,  forgetting  that  even  in  this  land,  "  in  which 
it  seems  always  afternoon,"  the  sun  will  set  and 
the  darkness  come. 

On  the  return  ride  we  visit  some  of  the  great  vine- 
yards of  the  San  Gabriel  valley,  passing  on  the  way 
thither  from  the  mountain  through  pleasant  avenues 
lined  with  the  acacia,  pepper,  and  purple  eucalyptus 
trees.  The  Sunny  Slope  estate  lies  along  the  way, 
and  we  turn  our  horses  into  the  roads  which  wind 
over  the  twenty-three-thousand-acre  farm  of  Mr.  Eose, 
its  owner.  A  company  of  Chinese  laborers  are  busily 
preparing  ditches  for  irrigation,  working  zealously 
with  no  overseer,  as  none  is  needed  to  make  them 
faithful  in  their  work.  Here  are  sixteen  thousand 
orange-trees,  set  in  almost  interminable  lines,  while 


THE   ORANGE-LAND  OF   CALIFORNIA.  167 

eleven  thousand  vinea  helped  to  produce  last  year 
the  grapes  from  which  six  thousand  gallons  of  wine 
were  made  in  the  great  distillery  upon  the  place. 

The  proprietor's  son  is  glad  to  devote  himself  to  us, 
taking  us  into  every  part  of  the  vast  buildings,  show- 
ing us  all  the  processes  of  distillation,  and  giving  us 
pleasant  narrative  of  the  gradual  growth  of  this  great 
estate.  His  father  was  a  teamster  on  the  plains ;  he 
had  found  but  poor  success  in  all  his  ventures,  until 
he  came  here  and  planted  his  vines  in  the  fields  of 
this  fair  San  Gabriel  valley.  New  acres  were  added, 
and  the  little  vineyard  grew :  a  rude  wine-press  was 
set  up,  and  wine  was  made ;  and  so  each  year  had 
seen  an  enlargement  of  the  estate,  until  now  it  is  the 
largest,  richest  one  in  all  the  valley. 

We  have  been  much  interested,  in  our  travels,  in 
getting  the  opinions  of  the  people  regarding  the  value 
of  Chinese  labor.  The  Chinaman  by  no  means  is 
regarded  with  disfavor  by  all  classes.  Men  of  large 
business  interests  have  spoken  with  enthusiasm  of 
his  work,  saying  that  California  is  large  debtor  to 
him ;  that  without  his  labor  its  industries  would  be 
undeveloped,  and  to  banish  him  now  would  be  to 
demoralize  and  destroy  half  the  business  of  the  State. 
Seeing  that  Chinese  labor  is  largely  employed  upon 
this  estate,  we  ask  our  guide  as  to  its  efficiency.  The 
intelligent  man  answers  in  enthusiastic  praise  of 
his  workmen,  "  Without  them  we  should  be  help- 


168  RAMBLES   OVERLAND. 

less.  They  are  industrious,  tireless,  painstaking ;  they 
never  shirk;  they  need  no  taskmasters;  they  have 
intelligent  interest  in  the  employer's  welfare;  they 
are  careful  in  the  use  of  tools,  destroy  little,  and  are 
always  willing,  reliable,  patient."  Asking  him  if 
they  were  cleanly  in  their  living,  he  replies,  "  You 
shall  see."  And  so  he  takes  us  to  the  house  where 
fifty  live,  showing  us  the  places  where  they  eat  and 
sleep.  Long  rows  of  bunks  are  around  the  building, 
with  cleanest  matting  of  straw  for  mattresses;  the 
walls  scrupulously  clean;  the  floor  is  scrubbed  to 
whiteness  ;  the  kitchen  is  savory  and  sweet ;  we  lift 
the  covers  of  the  kettles  upon  the  stove,  inspect  the 
pantries,  and  examine  the  food,  to  find  everywhere 
surprising  order  and  cleanliness;  while  the  stolid 
cook  follows  us  with  his  half-opened  eyes,  wonder- 
ing what  business  these  strange  Melican  men  can 
have  in  thus  inspecting  the  domestic  economy  of  the 
Chinaman's  home. 

At  sunset  we  come  to  the  old  Mission  Church 
of  San  Gabriel.  It  is  of  rude  architecture,  made  of 
the  rough  adobe.  Within  and  without  it  is  poor, 
unsightly,  poverty-stricken,  having  no  other  charm 
than  that  of  age ;  and  only  with  reluctance  do  we  put 
the  fee,  fixed  by  the  thrifty  priest,  into  the  hands 
of  the  withered  hag  who  looks  as  though  she  has 
come  up  out  of  the  old  graveyard  here  to  let  us 
in,  and  when  she  has  fastened  the  weather-beaten 


THE  ORANGE-LAND  OF   CALIFORNIA.  169 

door  behind  us  she  will  crawl  back  again  into  her 
grave. 

The  ride  homeward  to  the  city  in  the  early  even- 
ing is  full  of  beauty.  The  mountains  hold  the  light, 
while  yet  here  in  the  valley  we  are  journeying  in 
shadow.  The  magic  water  does  not  reach  us  here, 
and  the  fair  orange-groves  are  left  behind ;  but  there 
is  witchery  even  in  these  bare  fields  of  San  Gabriel, 
now  that  the  night  is  coming  over  them.  Our  good 
steeds  snuff  the  stable  now  and  catch  already  the 
glimmer  of  the  city's  lights ;  and  winding  round 
the  pleasant  hills,  sweeping  with  clattering  hoof  over 
the  great  plains,  with  steaming  flanks,  they  bring  us 
home,  so  filled  with  sweet  remembrance  of  the  day 
that  we  have  not  the  heart  to  give  the  horses'  owner 
the  thing  advised  by  the  sooty  smith  who  fixed  the 
wheel  in  Passadena. 


II. 

RIVERSIDE. 

As  yet  we  know  nothing  of  Riverside.  Passadena, 
we  have  found,  is  divinely  beautiful.  This  is  a  girl's 
adjective,  but  we  stand  by  it. 

The  people  there  are  of  gentle  blood  and  culture, 
and  when  we  asked  them,  with  an  honest  wonder  that 
seemed  to  please  them,  "  Is  there  anywhere  in  Cali- 


170  RAMBLES  OVERLAND. 

forma  another  spot  so  fair  as  this  ? "  they  answered 
us,  "  No,  there  is  nothing  like  Passadena,  unless  per- 
haps Eiverside  may  be  compared  to  it."  And  so 
whenever  we  asked  the  question,  so  often  we  heard 
the  name  of  Eiverside  mentioned  by  these  gently 
jealous  rivals. 

We  have  a  friend  at  Eiverside  who  has  sent  us  an 
invitation  to  visit  him,  and  so  we  will  go  southward 
sixty  miles,  and  at  Colton  leave  the  road  to  visit  this 
fair  colony.  We  find  our  friend,  and  are  led  captive 
to  "  Cosey  Nook  Cottage,"  to  find  royal  hospitality. 
The  house  is  the  tiniest  kind  of  a  home ;  its  thresh- 
olds even  with  the  ground,  with  a  piazza  around  its 
little  front  and  side,  shaded  with,  the  graceful  semi- 
tropic  pepper-trees,  wreathed  round  with  vines  which 
clamber  over  its  front  and  around  its  sides.  The  little 
irrigating  channel  is  just  beyond  the  sidewalk,  and  in 
a  day  or  two,  a  swift,  clear  stream  will  flow  by  all 
the  trees,  and  make  many  rivers  around  the  roots  of 
the  ten  thousand  flowers  of  this  fair  village. 

The  house  within  is  a  thing  of  wonder,  —  rooms  so 
tiny  we  wonder  how  any  one  can  turn  around  without 
going  out-doors,  and  yet  somehow  so  elastic  that  once 
within  there  is  abundant  space ;  ceilings  so  cosily  low 
that  one  feels  at  once  that  here  is  home  indeed  ;  and 
such  curious  halls  and  rooms  and  passage-ways  out- 
ward to  the  orange-trees,  such  vistas,  too,  through  the 
dark  chamber  of  the  long  grapery  stretching  far  away 


THE  ORANGE-LAND   OF  CALIFORNIA,  171 

into  the  sunlight,  that  there  seems  to  be  an  unreality 
about  it  all.  There  are  no  busy  little  fingers  to  med- 
dle with  the  various  devices  of  a  woman's  ingenious 
hands ;  upon  wall  and  mantel  everywhere  there  is 
woman's  taste  and  genius  beautifying  the  home ;  and 
really  we  would  like  to  put  our  shawl-strap  around 
the  cottage,  and  carry  house,  inmates,  and  clamber- 
ing vines  away  with  us,  setting  them  down  in  one 
corner  of  our  city  lot  at  home,  that  we  might  find  re- 
freshment for  our  weary  eyes,  as  through  the  autumn 
days  we  do  our  work  at  our  study  windows.  We 
have  not  yet  made  ourselves  accustomed  to  the  lit- 
tleness ;  and  when  to-day  we  all  went  out  we  could 
not  refrain  from  charging  our  host  that  he  carefully 
close  the  doors  that  the  dolls  might  not  get  out. 

There  are  orange-trees  around  it,  too,  and  a  little 
vineyard,  and  from  the  pleasant  hammock  made  of 
barrel  staves,  on  which  we  took  yesterday's  siesta,  we 
looked  straight  up  into  the  broad-leaved  fig-tree,  and 
had  but  to  reach  upward  to  pluck  the  fresh,  ripe,  lus- 
cious figs.  And  then  did  ever  mortal  have  such  lux- 
uries :  walnuts,  peaches,  fruits  of  every  kind,  grapes 
of  numberless  varieties,  and  roses  of  such  delicate 
hue  and  odor,  —  all  within  the  little  orchard  of  this 
tiny  house  ? 

Thirteen  years  ago  the  site  of  Riverside  was  part 
of  the  vast  desert-like  plains  lying  here  in  the  sun  be- 
tween the  mountains.  The  town  is  situated  between 


172  RAMBLES  OVERLAND. 

the  Sierra  Madre  and  the  low  Coast  Kange  mountains. 
It  is  in  what  is  known  as  the  Upper  Santa  Ana  valley ; 
that  is,  on  land  drained  by  that  river,  although  not 
really  valley -land  proper,  the  quality  of  the  land  being 
rather  that  of  the  mesas,  a  chocolate-colored  loam,  rich 
in  oxide  of  iron,  and  formed  from  decayed  vegetable 
matter  and  the  granite  wash  from  the  mountains,  —  a 
soil  peculiarly  adapted  to  fruit  culture.  The  moun- 
tain views  are  superb.  Cucamonga,  Gray  back,  San 
Bernardino,  San  Jacinto,  are  around  the  valley,  mak- 
ing perfect  frame  for  its  fair  beauty.  Under  the  win- 
ter rains  the  fields  became  green  for  a  little,  but  when 
the  cloudless  days  came  on,  speedily  the  great  brown 
mantle  of  desert  waste  spread  over  the  entire  scene. 
Brave  men  —  a  leader  among  whom  was  Judge  North 
—  came  and  saw  how  finely  these  great  plains  were 
sheltered  by  the  mountain  walls,  and  fancied,  if  they 
could  but  bring  the  water  from  the  hills,  they  could 
change  this  desert  to  a  garden.  They  found  the 
springs  of  the  rivers  in  the  hills,  and  bravely  made 
their  ditches ;  carried  on  sprawling  legs  of  timber 
their  flumes  across  the  valleys,  and  poured  the  might 
of  water  into  the  desert's  lap.  The  soil  laughed  with 
flowers,  the  vine  flourished,  the  almond-tree  whitened 
in  the  sun  ;  and  from  old  New  England,  and  the  later 
New  England  in  the  fair  northwest,  came  colonists, 
not  poor  in  purse  or  brain,  but  strong-handed,  brave- 
hearted,  large-brained  men.  They  reared  their  little 


THE   ORANGE-LAND   OF  CALIFORNIA.  173 

cottages,  planted  their  vineyards,  put  in  their  seed- 
lings, and,  digging  their  ditches,  sat  down  to  watch 
the  miracle  of  the  water  coaxing  from  the  soil  the 
wonders  of  its  latent  life.  The  valley  between  the 
mountains  smiled  with  beauty,  and  began  to  wave  its 
orange  plumes  to  the  hills  from  whence  came  its 
strength ;  the  ditches  were  extended  yet  beyond ; 
others  heard  of  the  marvel  here ;  farther  towards  the 
mountains  vineyard  and  orchard  ran ;  flowers  were 
sown,  trees  along  the  way  were  planted,  not  for  fruit- 
age, but  for  beauty's  sake ;  and  wherever  the  magic 
water  could  be  made  to  flow,  there  the  miracle  of 
growth  was  acted,  until,  after  years  so  few  that  they 
are  spanned  by  the  memory  of  those  who  are  but 
children  yet,  the  place  which  was  the  valueless  ranch 
of  the  herder  has  become 

"  The  land  where  the  lemon-trees  bloom, 
Where  the  gold  orange  grows  in  the  deep  thicket's  gloom, 
Where  a  wind  ever  soft  from  the  blue  heavens  blows, 
And  the  groves  are  of  laurel  and  myrtle  and  rose." 

Never  did  tourists  journey  with  wider-opened  eyes 
or  with  larger  haste.  How  gladly  would  we  loiter 
here  and  there,  dreaming  in  quiet  villages,  musing 
beside  the  sea,  waiting  listlessly  and  aimlessly  while 
Nature  transfers  to  the  canvas  of  our  minds  her  mas- 
terpieces !  Of  all  the  days  spent  in  the  Old  World, 
none  linger  so  pleasantly  with  us  as  those  quiet  ones, 
when  for  hours  we  sat  and  dreamed  beside  fair  lakes 


174  RAMBLES   OVERLAND. 

and  in  the  midst  of  old  historic  scenes ;  and  it  is  our 
grievous  misfortune  now  that  for  days  and  weeks  to- 
gether we  cannot  loiter,  dream,  and  linger,  until  the 
very  life  and  atmosphere  of  the  scenes  we  see  shall 
become  part  of  our  very  souls.  And  yet  we  are 
loitering  here.  We  came  for  the  interval  of  the 
trains ;  we  have  passed  the  day,  we  are  on  the  sec- 
ond day  ;  and  so  are  the  enchantments  of  Kiverside 
affecting  us,  that  when  we  rose  this  morning,  remem- 
bering the  rare  evening  we  had  passed,  sitting  amid 
the  roses  in  the  dewless  night,  with  the  moon's 

"  Level  rays  like  golden  bars," 

and  looked  out  on  a  day  so  fair,  seeing  the  world 

"  Smiling  as  if  the  earth  contained  no  tomb," 

we  were  not  surprised  to  find  that  the  spur  of  our 
resolution  had  lost  its  power,  that  we  no  longer  were 
solicitous  for  moving  on,  and  without  a  word  of  pro- 
test, said,  "Yes,  we  will  stay  another  day,"  though 
we  know  that  we  must  purchase  staying  by  sacrifice 
of  some  wonder,  for  seeing  which  we  have  the  ticket 
in  our  pocket. 

We  can  feel  now,  as  we  never  felt  before,  the  story 
of  the  "  Lotus  Eaters,"  who,  under  the  spell  of  the 
delightful  scenes  through  which  they  journeyed,  for- 
got home  and  country,  and  were  content  to  loiter 
ever  in  the  lotus  land.  We  have  actually  taken  the 
pictures  of  our  little  family  and  placed  them  close 


THE  ORANGE-LAND   OF  CALIFORNIA.  175 

beside  us,  to  use  them  as  a  charm  to  break  the  spell, 
not  only  of  this  fair  region,  but  of  the  fast-increasing 
friends  who  are  weaving  swiftly  the  enchantments  of 
their  hospitality  over  our  poor  yielding  and  delighted 
soul.  Already  fruit  from  orchard  and  field  has  been 
brought  to  us ;  busy  men  have  changed  their  plans  of 
labor  that  they  might  wait  upon  us ;  and  not  one,  but 
many,  have  brought  wives  and  children  to  sit  with  us 
in  the  moonlight  of  these  perfect  nights  amid  the 
roses  of  the  doll-house,  which  is  our  friend's  home. 

We  cannot  understand  how  these  fair  scenes  have 
come.  Surely  there  has  been  some  sorcery  that  has 
evolved  these  wonders, — trees  of  lordly  girt,  lawns 
green  with  a  turf  knit  seemingly  by  years  of  growth, 
changing  the  plain  into  a  vast  park  of  many  miles  in 
area  The  village  is  small :  a  few  stores,  churches,  a 
public  hall,  a  newspaper,  of  course,  the  matchless 
"  Glenwood,"  a  hotel  superbly  kept,  a  few  homes  set 
around  with  trees,  —  this  is  the  village,  though  it 
should  be  said  that  there  is  within  it  cleanliness, 
order,  and  large  sobriety.  From  the  village  out- 
ward are  cypress  hedges  close  beside  the  zanjas,  with 
cactus  plants  and  blooming  flowers  all  along  beside 
the  road,  and  far  extending  backward  row  on  row  of 
orange-trees,  —  oh,  so  green  and  beautiful !  —  hun- 
dreds, thousands ;  with  lemon,  walnut,  peach,  nectarine, 
apricot,  and  pomegranate ;  with  great  flaming  plants 
and  delicate  roses  round  the  houses,  and  such  roads 


176  BAMBLES   OVERLAND. 

and  walks  and  long  vistas  among  the  trees  as  make 
one  feel  that  these  things  are  not  for  the  occupation, 
but  only  for  the  amusement,  of  their  owners.  We  have 
scant  taste  for  details  of  figures :  we  only  know  that 
grapes  are  gathered  by  the  ton,  and  oranges  sent  to 
market  by  the  thousand ;  that  we  have  seen  presses 
for  the  raisin,  and  have  eaten  muscats  and  muscatels, 
fig  and  peach  and  pear,  until  we  shudder  for  the  fer- 
mentation that  will  ensue  when  we  strike  the  heat  of 
the  southern  desert  to-morrow  on  our  journey. 

The  land  sold  here  only  a  few  years  ago  for  thirty- 
five,  is  now  valued  at  a  thousand,  dollars ;  and  proba- 
bly in  all  the  country  there  is  nowhere  so  fair  a  colony 
as  this,  wrought  out  of  the  desert  by  the  brawn  of 
labdr  and  the  brain  of  intelligence.  We  have  been 
charmed  with  the  people  we  have  met.  Seldom  have 
we  seen  keener  men,  full  of  public  spirit,  believers  in 
the  future  of  Eiverside,  —  men  who  have  achieved 
something,  and  regard  no  obstacle  as  insuperable. 
Eastern  capital  abounds,  and  seldom  has  it  happened 
when  wealthy  people  have  stayed  for  a  time  that 
they  have  not  made  their  home  here  among  the 
orange  groves. 

We  have  written  by  our  chamber  window  far  into 
the  night,  and  to-morrow  at  an  early  hour  a  new-made 
friend  comes  to  carry  us  out,  before  the  going  of  the 
stage,  to  pluck  orange  blossoms  from  the  tree.  Then 
onward  to  the  desert,  of  which  men  have  spoken  with 


TUB   ORANGE-LAND   OF   CALIFORNIA.  177 

such  words  of  pity.  To-morrow  night  we  shall  be 
at  Yuma,  to  which  place,  it  is  said,  the  dead  natives 
come  back  from  Hades  when  they  are  frozen  out. 
Then  on  to  Mexico  for  a  little,  thence  to  Colorado, 
and  to  the  summit  of  Pike's  Peak  on  a  donkey's 
back,  thence  homeward  once  again. 

We  draw  the  curtain  ere  we  drop  our  pencil  for 
one  last  look  upon  the  beauty  of  this  perfect  night ; 
even  the  voices  of  the  night  are  hushed,  and  the 
orange-trees  sleep  in  the  light  without  the  rustle  of  a 
leaf.  We  wonderingly  ask  ourselves,  Why  is  it  that 
these  days  and  nights  have  brought  such  beauty  to 
us  ?  Is  it  because  really  the  flowers  are  of  deeper 
hue,  the  trees  of  fairer  foliage,  than  elsewhere  in  our 
journeys  ?  Or  is  it  because  the  hunger  of  the  heart 
for  human  friendliness  has,  after  all  these  days  of 
wandering,  found  here  at  last  a  place  where  friend- 
ship could  speak  its  kindly  word,  and  loving  sympa- 
thy extend  its  tender  offices  ?  After  all,  Nature  in  all 
her  varied  moods  touches  only  the  surface  of  our  life. 
We  wonder  and  we  worship  in  her  temples ;  but  there 
is  no  touch  of  sympathy  in  rock  or  wood,  and  we 
starve  even  in  Nature's  wonder-places  for  the  human- 
ity that  belongs  to  life  and  love. 

There  is  somewhere  a  legend  of  Ceylon  that  he 
who  has  once  set  foot  upon  its  soil  and  leaves  it,  wan- 
ders through  the  world  with  a  vague  and  melancholy 
discontent  which  cannot  be  appeased  until  he  has  re- 

12 


178  RAMBLES  OVERLAND. 

turned.  We  have  no  doubt  that,  until  we  reach  kind 
friends  again,  we  shall  long  with  unutterable  yearn- 
ing for  this  cosey  cottage-room  in  the  moonlight  here 
beneath  the  vines,  and  have  fair  visions  of  the  orange 
groves  and  cypress-shaded  avenues  of  this  fair  colony. 
And  in  the  coming  days,  when  in  the  old  home  we 
have  around  us  the  old  friends  and  the  old  loves,  we 
are  certain  that  we  shall  even  then  remember  this 
oasis  here  on  the  desert's  edge,  and  the  new  friend- 
ships formed  beneath  the  orange  leaves. 


ACROSS  THE   DESERT. 


What  thy  soul  holds  dear,  imagine  it 
To  lie  that  way  thou  go'st. 

SHAKSPEABB. 


CHAPTER  XL 

ACROSS  THE  DESERT. 

IT  is  three  days'  journey  across  the  great  southern 
Territories  to  Colorado.  Friends  at  home  pitied 
us  when  we  told  them  of  our  route  of  travel,  and 
wondered  why  we  did  not  choose  the  central  way  in- 
stead of  this  path  across  the  desert.  But  everybody 
went  the  middle  way.  We  had  heard  of  it  and  read 
of  it,  until  we  knew  it  all  by  heart,  and  we  had  desire 
to  see  the  strange  life  of  a  less  hackneyed  region. 
We  confess,  too,  that  there  was  a  fascination  in  the 
thought  of  going  out  by  the  northern  pines,  and  re- 
turning by  the  way  of  the  sunny  South,  with  its 
orange  groves  and  cactus  flowers. 

The  transition  from  Southern  California  to  the 
desert  is  rapid.  Under  the  San  Bernardino  range  the 
orange-trees  thrive,  and  there  is  the  rich  luxuriance 
which  comes  where  the  water  flows.  But  when  the 
zanjas  stop,  then  begins  the  desert. 

Hardly  is  the  old  mission  town  of  Bernardino  out 
of  sight  before  we  pass  into  the  great  basin  where, 
beyond  tradition's  memory,  there  was  a  vast  lake.  It 


182  RAMBLES   OVERLAND. 

is  two  hundred  and  fifty  feet  below  the  level  of  the 
sea,  and  the  very  hottest  place  upon  the  continent.  It 
is  a  cold  day  when  we  pass  through,  the  mercury  hav- 
ing dropped  from  the  boiling-point  to  the  mildly  tepid 
stage  of  one  hundred  and  two  degrees.  Even  this  is 
reasonably  sultry,  although  the  brakemen  tell  us  that 
on  an  average  day  they  are  obliged  to  wear  gloves 
when  they  touch  the  brakes.  We  notice,  however, 
that  the  natives  here  have  the  luxuriant  imagination 
peculiar  to  the  tropics ;  and  we  do  not  literally  accept 
all  their  alleged  facts,  although  we  do  not  deny  their 
statement,  that  to  this  place  their  dead  friends  come 
back  from  Hades  when  they  are  frozen  out. 

Passing  through  this  tropic  belt  the  way  has  many 
attractions.  All  the  way  across  there  are  mountain 
ranges  of  rare  beauty  of  outline,  finely  cut,  with  such 
sharp  lines  as  we  have  never  seen.  They  have  no 
sign  of  vegetation,  but  look  as  if  the  great  lava  sea 
had  stiffened  into  rock.  So  deeply  are  they  indented, 
that  they  appear  to  be  filled  with  caverns,  and,  with 
the  long  plains  before  and  the  cloudless  sky  above, 
they  are  such  things  as  we  imagine  the  mountains  of 
Moab  must  be. 

Towards  the  east  the  mountains  soften  into  soil, 
with  great  sloping  sides  and  little  uplands  lying  plea- 
santly upon  them. 

Crossing  the  Colorado  River  we  are  in  Arizona, 
"the  treasure-chest"  of  the  continent.  The  waters 


ACROSS  THE   DESERT.  183 

of  the  river  are  muddy,  and  there  is  faint  trace  hero 
at  Yuma  of  the  wonders  of  scenery  that  lie  along  the 
course  of  its  upper  waters.  The  town  is  rude,  inado 
of  adobe;  every  nationality  is  represented  at  the 
train,  Mexican  herders  from  the  ranches,  miners, 
prospectors,  tourists.  A  band  of  vagrant  Yuma  In- 
dians are  here,  with  splendid  hair,  but,  oh  !  with  so 
little  clothing  on. 

The  day  is  perfect  as  we  speed  across  the  Territory. 
The  scenery  is  monotonous,  of  course,  but  having 
many  attractions  for  one  who  has  eyes  to  see.  The 
cactus  is  everywhere,  growing  in  broad-leaved  branches 
or  in  great  masses  of  spiky  vegetation.  The  land 
towards  the  eastern  border  is  richer,  softer,  greener. 
In  the  Gila  valley  it  is  even  beautiful,  for  recent 
rains  have  brought  the  water  for  miles  beside  the 
track,  brown  and  rich  in  color.  So  softly  does  the 
light  rest  on  this,  that  the  little  wire  upon  the  poles 
is  reflected  in  it. 

Cattle  are  feeding  now  upon  the  plains,  and  be- 
tween our  windows  and  the  distant  hills  we  see,  from 
time  to  time,  great  wagon-trains  moving  with  slow- 
paced  oxen  always  toward  the  west.  A  rare  mirage 
delights  us.  A  lake,  placid  as  the  Kevelator's  sea 
of  glass,  seems  to  lie  there  in  the  west ;  and  in  the 
lake  are  islands,  great,  dome-like  mounds,  little  sylvan 
spots  floating  on  the  waters,  and  larger  masses,  green 
with  sloping  fields, — 


184  E AMBLES   OVERLAND. 

*'  Sister  isles,  that  seem  to  smile 
Together,  like  a  happy  family, 
Of  beauty  and  of  love." 

So  real  is  it,  that  we  cannot  persuade  ourselves  that 
it  is  only  a  mirage,  until  after  the  vision  passes. 

New  Mexico  has  larger  fertility  than  Arizona. 
Civilization  has  not  yet  reached  its  limit  here. 
Sheriff  Tucker,  we  learn,  has  killed  eight  men  thus 
far  in  the  season  since  the  first  of  May,  and  seven- 
teen murders  have  taken  place  in  Deming  since  that 
time. 

At  one  of  the  stations  two  prospectors  take  the 
cars.  They  have  been  out  for  months,  riding  in  the 
saddle  by  day,  sleeping  under  the  stars  by  night,  on 
the  open  plains ;  and  they  tell  us  of  old  Toltec  cities 
toward  the  south,  where,  centuries  ago,  strange  houses 
were  built  by  a  race  now  vanished,  of  great  mounds 
filled  with  rude  weapons  and  pottery  of  finer  art  than 
any  living  tribe  has  fashioned.  There  are  few  towns 
along  the  way ;  but  while  the  plains  are  desert-like 
with  their  neutral  tints,  beyond  them  are  the  great 
ranges,  soft  with  hues  of  purple  and  golden  mist 

As  we  come  north  the  towns  begin  to  multiply,  set 
in  the  midst  of  cotton- woods,  green  with  the  irrigating 
waters  from  the  hills ;  and  now  the  natives  point  out 
the  sites  of  old  mines  from  which  in  other  days  large 
treasure  was  obtained.  For  centuries,  after  the  rude 
fashion  of  those  days,  these  mines  were  worked,  then 


ACROSS  THE   DESERT.  185 

abandoned,  until  recent  enterprise  has  opened  them 
again,  and,  with  larger  capital,  is  bringing  out  abun- 
dant wealth.  Here  at  San  Marcial  the  battle  of 
Valvercle  was  fought  in  1862;  at  Socorro  are  the 
famous  Torrence  and  Merritt  mines ;  and  all  the  moun- 
tains here  are  showing  richest  prospects.  Set  here  in 
the  plains  is  the  city  of  Albuquerque.  It  is  only  three 
years  old,  but  it  has  ten  thousand  people,  and  boasts 
its  electric  lights  and  telephones. 

At  Wallace  we  are  on  historic  ground,  for  here  in 
1693  Gen.  Diego  de  Vargas  made  encampment  with 
his  army,  and  here  the  revolution  against  the  crown 
ended,  the  rebellious  Indians  making  submission  to 
the  king,  having  received  the  promise  that  they 
should  no  longer  work  within  the  mines,  and  that 
the  covered  shafts  should  not  again  be  opened. 

At  Los  Cerrillos  is  the  old  Spanish  Mina  del  Tierra, 
noted  two  hundred  years  ago  as  the  richest  mine  upon 
the  globe.  It  was  worked  by  Indians,  who  climbed 
on  a  rude  terrace-like  causeway  of  notched  poles,  to 
the  surface,  bearing  the  ore  in  bags  made  of  skins. 
Near  this  mine  is  one  of  the  old  chalchinti,  or  tur- 
quoise mines,  from  which  part  of  the  jewels  of  the 
Spanish  crown  were  taken.  The  refusal  of  the  In- 
dians to  work  in  this  mine  led  to  a  general  revolu- 
tion, in  which  the  Spaniards  were  defeated  and  driven 
from  the  country. 

At  some  of  the  stations  we  met  the  Pueblo  In- 


186  RAMBLES   OVERLAND. 

dians ;  they  are  a  stupid  set,  not  over-clean,  ignorant 
of  English,  not  over-modest  in  their  dress. 

We  visit  Santa  F6,  because  everybody  goes  to  this 
city.  It  is  said  to  be  rich ;  if  so,  it  is  exceedingly 
modest  in  its  display.  It  is  old,  if  that  is  an 
advantage.  It  has  public  buildings,  but  they  are  in- 
significant ;  some  old  churches,  made  of  mud ;  a  few 
picturesque  streets.  But  the  adobe  houses  are  at 
best  poor  things;  they  do  not  satisfy  the  artistic 
sense,  though  they  are  regarded  as  a  good  card  in 
this  city,  which  makes  merchandise  of  its  antiquity. 
We  could  not  keep  from  our  mind  the  unclassical 
words  of  Finnegan's  song,  — 

"  Our  fathers  had  castles  of  mud, 

Of  which  they  were  fond  of  admiring  ; 
They  were  built  in  the  time  of  the  flood, 
For  to  keep  all  our  ancestors  dry  in." 

We  are  to  leave  the  cars  at  an  early  hour  in  the 
morning,  and  are  therefore  in  the  common  car.  We 
are  but  few  in  number,  and  have  made  good  arrange- 
ments for  the  night.  But  at  Trinidad  a  change  comes 
over  the  spirit  of  our  dreams,  for  the  fire  company  of 
Pueblo  enters,  returning  from  a  tournament  in  which 
it  has  been  victorious.  Each  man  bears  a  broom, 
and  we  are  overwhelmed,  as  though  an  army  of  locusts 
had  come.  The  average  member  of  an  ordinary  hand- 
engine  is  not  docility  personified :  a  member  of  a 
Western  company  takes  on  new  graces ;  a  Western 


ACROSS  THE  DESERT.  187 

company  returning  at  midnight  from  a  tournament 
bearing  the  champion's  belt  is  some  degrees  more 
demoralizing  than  a  Minnesota  blizzard.  Life  be- 
comes a  burden ;  it  soon  becomes  an  apprehension, 
for  a  reckless  passenger  in  the  forward  car  drawing 
his  revolver  calls  down  upon  himself  the  wrath  of 
the  Pueblo  heroes  returning  with  victorious  spoils. 
The  man  of  arms  is  not  a  hero,  and,  retreating  before 
the  wrath  he  has  inflamed,  he  comes  to  the  car  we 
occupy,  to  bear  there  from  time  to  time,  with  great 
abjectness,  the  revilings  of  the  bullies  he  has  roused 
but  dares  not  silence. 

So  escorted,  we  cross  the  boundaries  of  the  Centen- 
nial State,  and  are  soon  domiciled  in  the  pleasant 
villages  beneath  the  snow-clad  peaks  of  Colorado. 


A   MEXICAN   DETOUR. 


Shatt  we  go  see  the  relics  of  this  town  t 

SHAKSPEARK. 


CHAPTER  XII. 

A  MEXICAN  DfcTOUR. 

/CROSSING  the  Rio  Grande,  we  feel  at  once  the 
V^  atmosphere  of  another  and  older  empire.  The 
Texan  city  of  El  Paso,  on  the  northern  side,  is 
alive  with  the  stir  of  enterprise;  but  El  Paso  del 
Norte  slumbers  yet,  feeling  only  slightly  the  com- 
ing in  of  the  new  life  of  commerce  which  is  so  soon 
to  change  the  old  kingdom  of  Montezuma  substan- 
tially into  another  American  State.  The  horse-cars 
between  the  two  cities  bring  us  between  narrow  gar- 
den-walls covered  with  thick  traceries  of  vine  to  the 
depot  of  the  Ferrocarril  Central  Mexicano.  Dark- 
eyed  boys  stand  idly  here  and  brown-faced  natives, 
while  at  the  windows  of  the  cars  are  not  over-comely 
faces  peering  at  each  new  arrival  with  that  curiosity 
which  belongs  to  the  gentler  sex. 

The  day  of  revolutions  is  over,  in  Northern  Mexico 
at  least.  The  wild  Apache's  reign  has  passed,  and 
nowhere  is  life  more  secure  than  along  the  road 
southward  to  the  city  of  Chihuahua.  Nevertheless, 
the  government  compels  the  carrying  of  a  guard  of 


192  RAMBLES   OVERLAND. 

twenty  native  soldiers  ;  and  here  they  come,  —  swar- 
thy, shambling,  unsocial  fellows,  clad  in  loose  sum- 
mer clothes,  not  over-jaunty  in  their  style,  and 
officered  by  a  young  lieutenant,  ungracious  and  un- 
kempt, not  out  exactly  at  the  elbows,  but  at  other 
parts  not  less  conspicuous.  The  road  has  been  built 
by  New  England  enterprise,  a  most  generous  subsidy 
being  granted  by  the  government.  Massachusetts 
officers  are  in  charge ;  the  pay-roll  bears  for  the  most 
part  good  old  names  familiar  in  the  New  England 
towns  ;  and  if  beyond  the  needs  of  the  high  officials 
there  is  a  remnant  left  for  the  common  holders  of  the 
stock,  without  a  doubt  they  must  carry  their  coupons 
to  State  Street  to  get  their  cash. 

Due  south,  two  hundred  and  twenty-five  miles, 
Chihuahua  lies.  For  fifty  miles  the  road  passes  over 
a  vast  sandy  plain,  unrelieved,  save  in  the  northern 
portion,  where  in  the  distance  the  Rio  Grande  is  seen 
winding  in  the  east  amid  the  verdure  created  by  its 
waters.  The  soil  is  dry,  covered  with  a  scanty  growth 
of  mesquite  and  cactus,  and  the  cattle  feeding  here 
are  of  the  wild  and  wiry  kind.  The  Mexican  steer 
has  a  not  over-enviable  reputation  in  our  city  streets, 
because  of  a  somewhat  excessive  agility ;  but  in  his 
native  fields  here  along  the  track,  he  must  be  indeed 
an  agile  creature  if  he  would  find  sufficient  forage  to 
keep  him  in  condition. 

Soon  the  Candelarian  Range  looms  up,  great  peaks 


A  MEXICAN   DtfTOUR.  193 

of  every  curious  form,  softened  by  the  pleasant  haze 
of  this  delicious  air,  changing  southward  into  round 
buttes  and  peaks,  rising  from  the  plains  as  fair  as  old 
Ascutney  from  its  New  England  meadows ;  and  be- 
tween the  hills  are  pleasant  valleys,  bringing  down 
their  soft  verdure  even  to  the  desert's  edge ;  while  over 
all  the  scene  great  cloud-masses  begin  to  form  and 
move,  tinged  at  the  closing  of  the  day  with  rarest 
colorings.  The  cattle  now  multiply,  for  we  are  cross- 
ing the  vast  ranches  of  the  cattle  kings,  and  from 
these  distant  hills  come  down  the  streams  that  ferti- 
lize the  plains  ;  no  village  is  along  the  way,  and  slight 
sign  of  habitation,  save  the  cottages  of  the  ranchmen, 
with  cattle  corral  set  round  with  cotton-woods.  Once 
we  pass  a  little  group  of  travelling  natives  taking  their 
siesta  in  the  shade  of  the  station  water-tank,  the  little 
burros  feeding  near,  and  such  rare  groupings  of  chil- 
dren and  draperies  of  dress  and  coverings  as  an  artist 
would  have  envied. 

Central  Mexico,  in  its  entire  length,  is  a  desert, 
save  where  irrigation  has  brought  fertility.  Along 
the  coast,  where  there  is  the  moisture  of  the  sea, 
there  is  tropical  luxuriance  of  growth ;  but  here  it  is 
treeless,  almost  verdureless,  and  were  it  not  for  the 
royal  hills  and  the  majestic  clouds,  our  journey 
southward  would  be  exceedingly  monotonous. 

We  have  been  journeying  now  over  the  great  ranch 
of  Governor  Terrazas.  At  the  Iktle  stations  skilful 

13 


194  RAMBLES   OVERLAND. 

horsemen  have  given  surprising  exhibitions  of  their 
skill ;  family  groups  have  joined  us,  going  to  the  city 
for  the  Sabbath  fe'te;  and  the  resplendent  cowboy, 
armed  like  an  arsenal,  and  covered  with  the  costly 
sombrero,  which,  beyond  wife  or  horse  or  even  arms, 
is  cherished  as  the  one  immediate  jewel  of  the  cow- 
boy's soul  The  Mexican  is  not  loquacious.  Silent 
even  with  each  other,  we  wonder  if  behind  these  dark 
eyes  there  is  not  just  a  hint  of  enmity  at  these  pale- 
faced  strangers  who  have  come  to  change  the  empire 
of  his  fathers  ?  The  mountains  round  the  city  are 
tinged  with  sunset  colors  as  we  reach  our  journey's 
end,  the  white  walls  are  softened,  and  the  great  twin- 
towered  temple,  which  is  the  glory  of  Chihuahua, 
stands  in  the  midst,  as  though  the  city  purposely  had 
been  built  beneath  its  cathedral  walls. 

Around  the  station  the  scene  is  marvellous  in  its 
details  of  life.  Mexican  carriages  mingle  with  the 
latest-fashioned  vehicles,  men  and  women  upon  horse- 
back, children  upon  burros,  the  modern  omnibus  with 
its  gaudy  colors,  Indians,  natives,  foreigners  of  every 
dialect,  —  all  are  here ;  and  every  costume,  from  the 
half-clad  Indian  and  Mexican  with  fringe  and  spur  and 
sash,  to  the  latest  fashion  from  the  States,  —  all  min- 
gling here;  while  on  the  hills  the  setting  sun  is  kindling 
its  evening  fires,  and  beyond  in  the  soft  light  sits  be- 
tween the  mountains  the  white  city,  like  some  old 
Moorish  town.  The  old  and  new  civilizations  meet 


A  MEXICAN   DETOUR.  195 

here,  —  the  adobe  walls  of  the  city  and  the  iron  rail- 
way of  the  North,  the  Indian,  Spaniard,  and  the 
Anglo-Saxon ;  just  there  beyond,  the  new  car  is  be- 
ing put  upon  the  tramway,  while,  moving  onward  to 
the  city,  march  off  with  shambling  gait  the  silent 
guard  that  has  journeyed  with  us  from  the  North. 

Upon  the  highest  perch  of  the  loftiest  coach  we 
ride  into  the  city.  How  strange  it  is!  Women 
washing  at  the  little  stream  beside  the  road ;  curious 
streets,  bounded  with  houses  which  seem  to  be  but 
walls,  and  long  lanes  running  hitherward,  thitherward, 
witli  barracks  for  the  soldiers,  and  little  stores,  some 
absolutely  windowless  ;  quaint  signs  in  Spanish  above 
the  doors ;  dark  eyes  looking  at  us  from  latticed  win- 
dows ;  and  in  the  streets  women  walking  under  the 
shadow  of  the  walls,  with  Spanish  lace  deftly  thrown 
above  their  shapely  heads  with  that  rare  coquetry 
which  has  belonged  to  woman  since  Adam  was  born 
with  eyes  to  see. 

We  are  at  the  Plaza  now,  and  at  the  one  American 
hotel  the  city  has  we  find  our  quarters.  Toward  the 
street  it  is,  like  all  these  houses,  most  unpretentious. 
You  enter  through  an  archway  an  open  court  flagged 
with  stone,  and  by  a  winding  way  come  to  a  corridor 
running  round  this  court  Here  is  the  room  that  we 
shall  have ;  windowless,  save  as  the  lattice  of  the 
door  is  window,  with  floor  of  stone,  iron  bedsteads, 
and  just  that  tinge  of  color  set  off  with  blue  that 


196  RAMBLES  OVERLAND. 

one  sees  in  Northern  Italy,  among  the  lakes,  in 
little  hostelries  and  villa  houses.  We  have  no  sort 
of  spite  against  the  easy-going  landlord  who  carries 
on  the  house  by  proxy  through  his  colored  porter. 
We  hope  our  duster  fitted  the  husband  of  the  cham- 
bermaid who  kleptomanied  it ;  and  when  the  rainy 
season  comes,  we  trust  the  waiters'  aprons  will  be  put 
out  to  catch  the  drippings  of  the  showers.  We  have 
an  appetite  not  readily  adjustable,  we  fear,  to  the 
Mexican  style  of  living.  The  dishes  are  not  always 
dried,  and  a  kind  of  soap-sud  flavor  is  carried  over 
by  them  to  the  gravies  of  the  succeeding  meal,  and 
there  is  slight  over-use  of  garlic,  and  withal  such 
a  general  over-doing  of  the  meats  and  an  under- 
doing of  the  fish,  that  we  feel  that  somehow  David 
Garrick  must  have  been  dining  here  when  he  said 
that  "Heaven  sends  meat,  but  the  devil  sends 
cooks." 

The  city  of  Chihuahua  contains,  perhaps,  twenty 
thousand  souls.  It  has  an  honorable  history,  for  here 
Hidalgo  was  confined  and  executed,  and  the  cathedral 
tower  bears  marks  yet  of  the  invasion  of  Maximilian. 
The  streets  are  of  generous  width,  swept  clean  in  the 
early  morning  of  every  day  with  brooms  of  green 
willow  boughs.  The  houses  are  of  adobe,  though 
some  of  the  public  buildings  are  of  stone.  The  roofs 
are  flat,  and  toward  the  street  there  is  great  mo- 
notony in  these  endless  walls  of  garish  stone ;  and  as 


A  MEXICAN  DETOUR.  197 

one  walks  the  streets  in  the  early  morning,  before  the 
life  of  the  city  stirs,  he  feels  that  he  would  die  were 
he  compelled  to  look  for  a  single  month  on  these 
long  walls.  There  is  one  great  street  called  the 
Alameda,  running  backward  to  the  hills.  Trees  flour- 
ish, and  seats  of  stone  are  beneath  their  branches. 
It  is  wide  beyond  all  others.  Here,  on  Sabbath  days, 
the  military  band  plays  before  the  evening  concert 
in  the  Plaza,  and  on  great  fete  days  the  people  gather 
to  see  the  Virgin's  image  pass,  borne  on  by  priests. 
Market,  City  Hall,  cathedral,  gather  around  the  Plaza, 
which  is  the  heart  of  Chihuahua.  To-morrow  is  the 
Sabbath,  and  there  is  a  larger  stir  than  usual  in  the 
market  square.  The  market  building  is  pierced  by 
archways  on  every  side,  and  entering  in  we  see  a 
strange  scene.  The  Placita,  or  inner  court,  is  open 
to  the  sky,  and  the  full  moon  is  struggling  behind 
great  clouds,  throwing  into  ominous  shadow  these 
strange  faces  crouching  above  their  little  stores. 
Black  eyes  flash  beneath  broad  sombrero  brims ;  on 
frail  stands  and  barrels  these  tradesmen  have  their 
goods,  and  on  the  pavement,  beside  heaps  of  fruit, 
women  sit,  their  faces  strangely  colored  in  these  cross 
lights ;  on  the  laps  of  weary  mothers  children  sleep, 
while,  unsolicited,  lest  the  sleepers  wake,  the  buyers 
pass  up  and  down. 

In  and  out  among  them,  threading  our  way  over 
the  withered  fruits  of  these  belated  sellers,  we  gaze 


198  RAMBLES   OVEKLAND. 

and  wonder  at  the  weirdness  of  the  scene,  —  these 
strange  faces,  draped  in  these  Eembrandt  shadows, 
the  utter  weariness  which  had  coine  from  many  hours 
of  watching,  the  flickering  lights  in  rude  lanterns,  the 
strange  fruits,  the  stranger  language  of  passing  buy- 
ers. The  stock  in  trade  is  pitifully  meagre,  and  those 
who  buy  take  with  them  tiniest  purchases ;  for  these 
people  here  have  learned  to  make  their  necessities 
miserably  few,  and  the  city  has  no  middle  class,  but 
only  the  rich  and  poor. 

The  very  weirdness  of  the  place  attracts  us,  and 
when,  late  at  night,  wearied  with  long  journey  ings 
in  the  streets,  we  come  back  to  hear  the  music  of 
the  fountain's  play  within  the  Plaza,  we  are  drawn 
again  to  the  market-place  close  by.  The  group  of  sel- 
lers has  thinned  a  little,  for  it  is  nearly  midnight,  and 
only  now  and  then  does  some  tardy  housewife  come 
for  the  morrow's  store ;  but  still  patiently  sit  these 
humble  toilers.  The  shadows  deepen  in  the  paler 
light,  while  on  the  mother's  lap  sleep  on  the  little 
ones,  as  happy  as  if  the  world  would  bring  no  care. 

The  streets  contain  the  people  now,  for  it  is  a 
summer's  night.  Around  the  drinking-places  are  lit- 
tle groups  of  men,  and  at  the  archways  house-wives 
are  stopping  for  the  gossip  of  the  day;  through 
the  barred  windows  we  see  fair  rooms  hung  round 
with  pictures,  and  in  not  a  few  some  signs  of  lux- 
ury; through  the  archways  are  visible  the  quiet 


A  MEXICAN   DETOUR.  199 

Placitas  set  round  with  flowers,  while  in  the  dewless 
air  fathers  play  with  children  or  friends  gather  for 
social  joys.  Hearing  the  sound  of  music,  we  listen 
beneath  the  windows,  and  shabby  though  it  is,  so 
curious  are  we,  we  climb  a  little  so  that  we  can  over- 
look the  shutters  and  see  within.  A  group  of  boys 
are  gathered  round  a  teacher,  who,  with  much  vocif- 
eration and  some  angry  words,  if  we  can  judge  aright, 
is  making  rehearsal  for  the  cathedral  service  of  the 
morrow;  and  very  sweet,  too,  sound  these  youthful 
voices  chanting  the  service  of  the  Holy  Church  in 
the  pleasant  measures  of  the  Spanish  speech. 

As  the  evening  changes  into  night,  mothers  are 
making  beds  before  their  doors  for  their  little  ones ; 
and  so  thick,  as  the  night  wears  on,  become  these 
sleepers  in  the  street,  that  we  almost  fear  to  walk 
among  them,  so  angrily  have  the  black  eyes  of  those 
who  guard  them  flashed  at  us. 

There  is  no  more  unfailing  source  of  pleasure  than 
to  see  a  great  city  wake  to  life.  But  Chihuahua 
wakes  not  as  other  cities,  with  gradually  increasing 
noise  and  stir.  The  cathedral  bells  call  to  early 
Mass,  and  we  can  hear  the  footsteps  of  the  worship- 
pers without.  From  the  corridor  of  the  Placita  the 
servant  calls  with  drawling  tones  to  the  morning 
meal ;  and  while  the  fountain  plays  within  the  Plaza, 
and  around  it  women  are  filling  their  water-jars 
there  is  no  other  token  that  another  day  has  come. 


200  RAMBLES   OVERLAND. 

We  go  up  and  down  the  streets,  sit  beneath  the 
branches  of  the  Alameda,  see  the  little  burros  coming 
in,  bearing  in  panniers  milk  and  comforts  for  the  day, 
—  not  seldom  bearing,  too,  great  stalwart  men  urging 
on  their  beasts  with  peculiar  never-ceasing  shaking  of 
the  knees,  as  though  the  palsy  were  the  epidemic  of 
the  nation.  Great  lines  of  burros  bring  wood  upon 
their  backs  and  sides;  most  curious  wood  it  is, — 
branches  curled  and  twisted,  gnarled  into  such  knotty 
curvatures  as  if  in  the  night  some  one  had  stripped 
the  trees  that  Dore  used  to  be  so  fond  of  picturing  in 
his  forests. 

We  hope  it  is  because  of  no  morbid  passion  for 
sight  of  wretchedness,  nor  yet  because  of  any  antici- 
pating of  our  fate,  that  we  have  interest  in  the  prison 
of  the  city ;  but  here  we  are  at  the  iron  gate,*  and  on 
the  wrong  side  of  it  are  twenty  fellows  who  would 
exchange  places  with  us  and  make  short  dicker  with 
the  trade.  The  city  is  phenomenal  in  its  order;  while 
the  police  are  such  strange  fellows,  —  so  armed  and 
girded  with  weapons  of  every  kind,  so  clumsy  by 
reason  of  accoutrement,  that  a  rogue  of  facetious  tem- 
perament would  surely  die  with  laughter  at  his  cap- 
tor; yet  the  city  is  in  perfect  order,  and  has  bad 
eminence  with  the  unruly  classes.  We  find  some 
Americans  waiting  here  who  tell  sad  tales  of  hard- 
ships. They  are  in  prison  through  the  failure  of  the 
authorities  to  rightly  interpret  some  unfortunate  cir- 


A  MEXICAN   DETOUR.  201 

cumstances  in  which  they  were  unhappily  engaged ; 
they  speak  disparagingly  of  the  Mexican  character, 
and  are  not  hearty  in  praise  of  the  institutions  of  the 
Republic.  Notwithstanding  their  apparent  flesh,  they 
are  wasted,  they  assert,  with  insomnia  because  of  the 
tarantulas  which  infest  the  cells;  and  if  we  will  get 
them  out,  and  in  the  mean  time  give  them  some 
tobacco,  we  shall  be  doing  a  favor  to  fellow-country- 
men who  are  temporarily  in  trouble. 

The  Church  of  St.  Francisco  is  the  oldest  church 
within  the  city.  It  is  rude  in  architecture,  and  has 
no  grace  that  it  should  be  desired.  The  interior  deco- 
rations are  poor  and  tawdry ;  the  altar-rail  painted 
green,  the  gates  a  little  saggy  at  the  hinges;  the 
arch  behind  is  veneered  with  carved  wood  placed  in 
sections ;  here  are  poorly  painted  panel  pictures,  all 
awry,  an  altar  decorated  like  the  playhouse  of  a  child, 
tinsel  flowers  in  china  vases,  and  looking-glasses, 
with  fire-screens  behind  tallow  dips,  and  such  utter 
childishness  of  ornament  that  one  is  saddened  at  the 
spectacle.  There  are  most  grotesque  and  hideous 
figures  of  the  Saviour,  with  blood-stained,  agonizing 
face,  with  all  the  repulsiveness  of  suffering,  and  none 
of  the  grandeur  which  some  of  the  old  masters  used 
to  show. 

The  confessional  is  ruder  than  in  any  of  the 
churches  we  have  seen ;  and  here  beside  the  altar  in 
the  Virgin's  chapel  is  the  repulsive  bier,  waiting  for 


202  RAMBLES   OVERLAND. 

the  burial  of  the  dead.  A  mother  and  daughter  are 
crooning  here  their  prayers,  keeping  tally  with  their 
beads.  From  altar  to  altar  they  pass,  kissing  altar 
cloths  and  rails,  and  even  the  pavement  of  the  floor, 
—  the  mother  brusque  and  business-like,  but  the 
daughter  inclined  to  linger,  much  freer  with  her 
glances  at  the  strangers  than  seems  consistent  with 
the  spirit  of  devotion. 

The  Cathedral  crowns  the  city.  Go  where  you  will, 
its  towers  always  are  in  sight.  Built  nearly  two  hun- 
dred years  ago  by  taxation  of  the  Santa  Eulalia  Silver 
Mine,  it  is  associated  with  the  teuderest  experiences 
of  the  people's  life.  It  is  of  Moorish  architecture; 
built  of  adobe,  with  towers  faced  with  stone  not  un- 
like in  color  the  Parisian  buildings.  The  front  is  of 
most  elaborate  workmanship,  with  fluted  pillars  rising 
one  above  the  other,  with  figures  of  the  saints  set  in 
niches  everywhere,  the  whole  covered  with  delicate 
arabesques,  like  the  fine  chasings  on  a  jewel;  and 
flanking  this  faqade  are  massive  towers,  severely  plain 
in  their  lower  parts,  that  nothing  may  detract  from  the 
rich  entrance-way  which  they  enclose,  but  blossom- 
ing out  above  the  gable  of  the  facade  into  tapering 
spires  set  round  with  fluted  pillars  rising  in  marvellous 
symmetry  to  the  shining  crosses  set  against  the  sky. 

The  walls  are  but  poorly  fashioned,  having  only 
such  poor  grace  as  art  can  fashion  of  adobe  with 
slight  mixture  of  rubble-stone,  with  bungling  attempt 


A  MEXICAN  DETOUR.  203 

at  beauty  in  flying  buttresses  upon  the  roof,  and  a 
heavy  dome  surmounted  by  an  iron  cross  most  sadly 
out  of  plumb.  The  eastern  portal,  however,  is  of 
surpassing  beauty,  —  so  rich  in  gentle  traceries  that 
one  might  fancy  that  a  section  of  the  old  Alhambra 
had  been  transported  here,  with  fair  Corinthian  pil- 
lars and  imaged  saints  set  round  with  beauty.  The 
interior  disappoints.  The  wooden  timbers  of  the  roof 
are  sadly  out  of  place,  and  there  is  lacking  here  the 
massiveness,  the  tender  grace  of  the  cathedrals  of  the 
older  world;  while  the  windows  are  set  high,  with  no 
symmetry  of  form  or  richness  of  color.  There  is 
great  poverty  of  decoration ;  the  altar  is  a  faded  thing, 
and  even  the  vestments  of  the  priests  are  common ; 
while  the  music,  which  is  the  soul  of  the  service  of 
the  Church,  is  thin  and  strident,  stirring  no  emotion. 
The  High  Mass  of  the  Sabbath  is  in  progress,  and  the 
vast  edifice  is  filled  with  kneeling  forms. 

The  type  of  face  is  purely  native ;  here  and  there 
the  clean-cut  features  of  the  Spaniard  can  be  seen, 
and  the  darker  shade  of  the  native  Indian ;  but  tho 
Mexican  face  prevails,  telling  in  the  rugged  lines  that 
life  here  has  been  not  wholly  a  thing  of  idle  dreams. 
Miner,  merchant,  ranchmen  from  the  hills,  all  are 
here,  with  curious  costumes  merging  slowly  into  the 
Anglo-Saxon  type  that  is  to  be  the  fashion  of  the 
world.  There  are  but  few  fair  faces  in  the  multitude 
of  women,  although  most  cleverly  have  these  cunning 


204  RAMBLES  OVERLAND. 

hands  set  them  round  with  frame  of  gentle  folds  of 
shawl  and  scarf.  One  face  within  the  kneeling  crowd 
attracts  us,  not  by  reason  of  its  loveliness,  but  be- 
cause of  its  fair  white  color  and  such  rapt  ecstasy  of 
worship  as  the  pictures  of  the  saints  sometimes  wear. 
The  priest  most .  famous  in  the  city  preaches,  with 
such  surprising  eloquence  that  though  we  understand 
no  word  of  Spanish  we  are  greatly  moved. 

As  night  comes  on,  the  glory  of  the  Plaza  is  re- 
vealed. The  great  cathedral  towers  stand  sentinel 
above  it  in  this  rare  moonlight,  and  from  all  the  city 
streets  the  throngs  are  coming  to  keep  the  Sabbath 
fete  around  the  fountain.  The  little  hucksters  are 
setting  up  their  wares  and  lighting  the  lanterns  of 
their  stalls,  and  parents  leading  children  come,  and 
fair  senoritas  go  round  and  round  the  Plaza's  circle, 
while  in  the  centre  the  military  band  plays  with 
vigor  if  not  with  skill.  It  is  said  that  in  one  of  the 
Colorado  churches  there  is  posted  this  notice:  "Please 
don't  shoot  the  organist ;  he  is  doing  the  best  he  can." 
We  hardly  think  that  this  entreaty  would  save  these 
fellows  if  these  throngs  had  large  sense  of  music; 
but  the  air  is  balmy,  and  in  quiet  converse,  and  such 
gentle  fellowships  as  men  and  women  make,  the  even- 
ing wears  on  till  eleven  o'clock,  when  the  music  stops, 
and  no  sign  of  life  remains  save  the  fountain  playing 
in  the  light  and  the  watchman  making  his  weary 
rounds. 


A   MEXICAN   DETOUR.  205 

We  seek  in  the  earlier  evening  the  one  Protestant 
service  of  the  city.  It  is  not  an  easy  thing  to  find  a 
place  in  these  streets  which  are  so  alike.  The  people 
backward  from  the  larger  stores  are  not  versed  in 
English  speech,  and  so  we  try  as  best  we  can  to  tell 
our  errand  in  such  Spanish  as  we  had  learned  in  the 
visit  of  the  day.  We  do  not  half  succeed,  we  fear, 
for,  following  the  direction  which  our  question  brings, 
we  find  ourselves  at  a  hotel,  which  is  not  a  church 
at  all.  We  find  the  place  at  last,  a  preacher's  home, 
but  miss  the  hour  of  service.  We  are  met  in  the 
Placita  by  a  fair  New  Jersey  girl,  who  loves  to  talk 
of  this  strange  city  and  of  the  old  home  by  the  far 
Atlantic.  In  the  midst  of  our  pleasant  converse  a 
child's  voice  cries  out,  "  Auntie,  I  want  my  pills ! " 
and  we  can  but  say,  "  We  never  saw  before  a  boy  that 
cried  for  pills  ! " 

We  have  a  long  audience  with  the  mayor,  a  gentle- 
man of  most  engaging  speech  and  kindly  ways.  He 
tells  us  of  the  city,  of  the  patriot  Hidalgo,  of  the 
reign  of  law  that  had  been  brought  into  the  city,  of 
the  grander  life  that  is  coming  to  the  old  nation  with 
the  progress  of  the  railway  and  the  coming  in  of  new 
ideas.  He  has  kindliest  wishes  for  the  Northern 
strangers  who  are  changing  the  old  into  the  new,  but 
grieves  that  capital  should  so  be  squandered  by  reck- 
less men.  "  We  have,"  he  says,  "  worked  our  mines 
for  ages.  In  rude  fashion,  if  you  please,  but  always  to 


206  BAUBLES   OVEBLAND. 

advantage.  Your  people  come ;  our  ways  are  wrong 
to  them ;  costly  machinery  is  bought ;  the  old  over- 
seers are  unheeded,  and  men  ignorant  of  our  cus- 
toms and  our  people,  ignorant  of  mining  even,  are 
put  in  charge,  wealth  is  squandered,  and  no  profit 
comes."  The  government  of  the  city  is  carefully  ad- 
ministered ;  the  people  are  content ;  the  coming  in  of 
American  capital  has  improved  the  condition  of  the 
laboring  classes,  and  despite  the  excessive  tariff  the 
stores  are  filled  with  the  products  of  American  shops 
and  looms.  The  men  are  reasonably  well  educated, 
while  the  condition  of  woman  is  degraded,  in  that  she 
is  regarded  as  the  toy  and  drudge  of  man,  rather  than 
his  companion.  We  see  but  little  of  the  gallantry 
we  supposed  belonged  to  this  people,  and  the  sad 
faces  which  peer  at  us  from  beneath  the  soft  folds  of 
the  little  shawls  which  cover  the  heads  with  such 
consummate  grace  still  haunt  us.  The  death  of 
children  under  ten  is  esteemed  not  grievous,  and  for 
the  dead  of  every  age  there  is  not  that  tenderness 
of  memory,  nor  care  to  make  beautiful  the  place  of 
burial,  which  belongs  to  some  other  nations.  The  city 
still  retains  in  the  architecture  of  its  streets,  its  plea- 
sant language,  its  laws  and  customs,  the  peculiar 
flavor  of  the  past.  Not  in  a  day  does  a  new  civiliza- 
tion impose  itself  upon  a  people.  But  the  strong,  at 
last,  make  the  laws  and  life  of  the  weak ;  arid  com- 
merce is  to  do  for  Mexico  what  the  conquest  of  arms 


A  MEXICAN   DETOUR.  207 

could  not  do,  —  change  the  language  and  the  very 
spirit  of  the  people. 

As  we  turn  our  face  northward,  we  rejoice  that  be- 
fore the  transition  conies  which  shall  merge  this  peo- 
ple into  the  great  Northern  life,  we  have  seen  the  city 
and  felt  the  movement  of  the  old  life  of  ages.  And 
so  we  leave  behind  the  music  of  the  Plaza's  fountain, 
and  the  fair  temple  which  holds  aloft  its  splendid 
towers,  like  the  brooding  of  an  angel's  wings,  over  the 
fair  city  of  Chihuahua. 


COLORADO  DAYS. 


11 


But  on  and  up,  where  Nature's  heart 
Beats  strong  amid  the  hills. 

MILNES. 


CHAPTER    XIIL 

COLORADO  DAYS. 

THE  gateway  of  Colorado  is  the  city  of  Pueblo. 
Here  the  roads  diverge,  going  northward  to 
Denver,  westward  to  the  Gunnison  Country  and  Salt 
Lake,  with  a  line  between  extending  to  Leadville. 

We  will  first  go  Denverward  forty-five  miles,  stop- 
ping at  Colorado  Springs.  The  intervening  space  is 
unattractive;  the  land  is  bare,  with  few  signs  of 
either  vegetable  or  human  life.  As  we  draw  near 
our  destination  in  the  West,  a  great  line  of  mountains 
stands  against  the  sky,  culminating  in  the  towering 
summit  of  Pike's  Peak.  It  is  hard  to  conceive  of 
any  mountains  such  as  these  being  without  beauty, 
but  this  great  wall  of  stone  is  seamed  and  scarred 
with  such  grand  lines,  there  is  such  massiveness  of 
outline,  rock  and  forest  so  cleverly  intermingle,  that 
even  the  first  view  fascinates  and  enchants.  What 
Interlaken  is  to  the  Jung  Frau,  such  is  Colorado 
Springs  to  Pike's  Peak.  Seated  upon  the  plateau  on 
which  the  town  rests,  we  are  at  just  the  proper  focal 
distance,  —  a  little  near,  perhaps,  but  not  too  far  to 


212  RAMBLES   OVERLAND. 

catch  the  grace  of  the  intervening  meadow  and  the 
beauty  of  the  little  valleys  that  run  among  the  hills. 
This  Colorado  sky  is  something  wonderful,  —  deep, 
rich,  magnificent.  The  colors  of  field  and  mountain 
are  strangely  brilliant ;  and  nowhere  on  the  continent 
have  we  found  a  place  where,  with  larger  content,  we 
could  sit  all  through  the  summer  days  and  watch  the 
sun  and  clouds  paint  their  pictures  on  the  everlasting 
hills. 

Shrewd  enterprise  laid  the  foundation  of  Colorado 
Springs.  The  town  is  a  model  of  thrift  and  beauty ; 
streets  of  metropolitan  dimensions,  public  buildings 
of  taste,  private  homes  placed  in  the  midst  of  gar- 
dens, while  the  purest  water  carries  health  through 
all  the  town. 

To  the  world  Colorado  Springs  contains  the  attrac- 
tions of  this  region,  and  there  is  no  great  attempt  on 
the  part  of  the  natives  of  the  place  to  undeceive. 
But  beyond  the  view,  and  the  beauty  of  a  thrifty 
village,  there  is  nothing  here.  Even  the  springs, 
from  which  the  town  is  named,  are  five  miles  away, 
at  Manitou.  From  this  smaller  place  the  trail  leads 
to  the  summit  of  Pike's  Peak,  while  around  the 
quiet  village  nestle  such  beauties  as  decorate  few 
places  in  any  land.  But  alas  for  Manitou!  the 
steam-presses  of  the  newspapers  are  at  the  preten- 
tious town  yonder  across  the  valley,  and  the  stran- 
gers disembark  at  the  latter  place  and  stay,  until, 


COLORADO  DAYS.  213 

visiting  the  lovely  village  five  miles  away,  they  give 
their  hearts  to  Manitou.  And  it  is  incomparable  in 
beauty.  A  quiet  little  spot  dropped  among  the  hills, 
with  pleasant  roads,  and  winding  lovers'  paths  beside 
the  singing  stream,  with  cottages  vine-embowered, 
pleasant  hillside  homes,  and  such  romantic  roads  lead- 
ing to  wonder-places,  that  one  could  spend  a  summer 
here  and  not  exhaust  the  chann  of  this  fair  Manitou. 

Even  now  it  seems  to  us  as  a  pleasant  summer's 
dream,  for  heaven  and  earth  seem  to  kiss  each  other 
here.  And  how  shall  we  describe  a  dream  ?  Or 
where  shall  we  begin  to  tell  of  the  beauties  of  a  per- 
fect picture,  or  put  in  words  the  rhythm  of  a  matchless 
poem  ?  and  Mauitou  is  dream,  picture,  poem,  all  in 
one,  the  loveliest  spot  that  nestles  anywhere  among 
the  fairest  valleys  of  the  continent. 

The  town  is  a  tiny  thing.  A  few  hotels,  the  vil- 
lage houses  not  obtrusive,  summer  cottages  nestling 
beside  the  river  and  on  the  hills,  little  colonies  of 
tents  where  the  campers  are,  the  Casino,  with  its 
pleasant  architecture,  the  winding  road  beside  the 
river,  and  over  all  the  majestic  mountains,  —  this  is 
Manitou ;  and  yet  this  is  not  all,  for  there  is  a  name- 
less witchery  that  eludes  description,  an  atmosphere 
which  words  cannot  picture,  a  subtle  grace  that 
baffles  speech.  Was  there  ever  such  royal  afternoon 
as  this  on  which  we  start  to  make  exploration  of  the 
beauties  that  are  here  ? 


214  RAMBLES   OVERLAND. 

The  stables  of  the  village  shelter  no  finer,  fleeter 
horse  than  this  we  ride,  for,  with  the  utmost  courtesy 
that  we  can  use,  we  search  and  find  the  softest  spot 
in  the  owner's  heart ;  and  does  he  not  know  by  the 
look  within  our  eyes  that  we  have  loyal  love  for  a 
noble  horse  ?  And  so  we  shall  have  this  royal  fellow 
to  bear  us  on  our  way. 

To  the  Garden  of  the  Gods  first. 

The  stableman  tells,  with  minute  directions,  just 
where  the  wonders  are.  This  stone  from  such  a  point 
is  Mrs.  Grundy ;  that,  a  monk ;  the  other,  some  pecu- 
liar wonder,  we  know  not  what. 

There  is  but  little  doubt  that  the  fantastic  stones 
do  assume  the  shapes  described,  and  that,  by  a  happy 
exercise  of  faith  and  vision,  one  can  see  strange  forms 
in  this  museum  of  nature.  There  is  little  doubt,  too, 
that  the  average  tourist  is  so  intent  on  finding  these 
monstrosities,  that  he  misses  the  grandeur  and  glory 
of  the  place.  "We  have  seen  so  much  seeking  of  the 
infinitely  little  in  the  midst  of  the  infinitely  great, 
that  we  are  in  chronic  revolt  against  the  simply 
curious;  we  have  come  to  abominate  freaks  of  na- 
ture, and  so  we  will  not  even  look  for  a  single  resem- 
blance in  rock  or  cliff. 

We  do  not  wonder  that  writers  visiting  this  place, 
beguiled  by  the  emphasis  placed  upon  its  fantastic 
freaks,  should  have  missed  somewhat  the  larger 
beauty  of  the  Garden  of  the  Gods.  It  is  a  wonder- 


COLORADO   DAYS.  215 

place,  not  in  freaks  and  fantastic  carvings,  but  in  the 
great  red  peaks  that  guard  its  entrance ;  in  its  superb 
coloring  of  rock  and  cliff;  the  pleasant  vales  of  ver- 
dure ;  the  gigantic  sculpturings ;  and  over  all  the 
majestic  glory  of  Pike's  Peak,  throned  like  a  monarch 
above  the  hill  and  plain. 

In  the  upper  part  of  this  strange  valley,  through 
a  rustic  gateway,  we  enter  fair  Glen  E^rie.  The  hills 
bound  it  in  on  either  side;  and,  following  up  a  little 
stream  broken  into  bits  of  beauty  by  a  thousand  tiny 
falls,  we  come  into  the  very  heart  of  the  hills.  How 
beautiful  and  majestic,  too,  are  these  rounded  sum- 
mits, these  beetling  crags,  these  fair  slopes  garnitured 
with  flowers  and  foliage !  It  is  the  very  holy  of 
holies  of  the  hills ;  and  surely  Nature  has  lavished 
here  the  utmost  riches  of  her  skill! 

But  along  the  way  there  is  beauty,  too ;  for  the 
road  winds  like  a  serpent's  trail,  the  branches  are 
interbraided  in  leafy  canopies  above  our  heads,  and 
rare  traceries  of  vines,  crimsoned  with  such  glory  as 
the  autumn  brings,  garland  the  forest  trees ;  by  the 
brookside  and  in  little  bits  of  meadow  brilliant  flow- 
ers grow,  tinted  with  the  barbaric  color  that  wildness 
loves,  while  in  the  tiny  places  where  the  winding  of 
the  brook  has  made  a  tongue  of  land,  kindly  art  has 
planted  flowers  fenced  round  with  curious  stones  like 
grotto  walls.  So  through  such  leafy  arch  as  we  have 
never  seen,  with  flowers  broideriug  the  way,  we  wind 


216  K AMBLES   OVERLAND. 

in  and  out  among  the  beauties  of  fair  Glen  Ee'rie, 
wondering  how  in  this  far-off  region,  which  only  a 
little  time  ago  was  an  undiscovered  land,  nature  and 
art  have  so  wondrously  wrought  to  make  among  the 
hills  one  of  the  earth's  loveliest  places.  While  the 
lights  and  shadows  weave  royal  tapestries  upon  our 
path,  canopied  with  foliage,  we  commune  in  delight- 
ful silence  with  the  spirit  of  Glen  Eerie,  with  noth- 
ing to  break  the  spell  of  its  enchantment  save  the 
tread  of  our  horses'  feet,  and  the  low,  sweet  music  of 
the  running  stream.  Backward  to  the  town,  through 
it  and  beyond,  we  ride  on  and  up  into  the  rugged 
wildness  of  the  old  Ute  Pass.  Had  we  the  finer  vision, 
we  might,  dismounting,  find  perhaps  the  old  tracks  of 
the  Ute  warriors  who  used  to  pass  this  way.  We 
should  surely  find  traces  of  the  pioneers  who,  in  the 
delirious  days  of  gold,  came  here  to  find  fortune  in 
the  gulches  of  the  hills,  and  from  our  saddle  we 
can  now  see  the  ruts  worn  by  the  supply  trains  of 
the  great  camps  beyond  among  the  mountains,  —  for 
this  is  the  Leadville  trail;  and,  while  our  panting 
steed  stands  here  above  the  gorge,  we  hear  the  tink- 
ling bell  of  the  long  wagon-trains  climbing  by  this 
rugged  way  to  their  destination  among  the  summits. 
It  is  a  wild,  desolate  path, — hewn  out  of  the  moun- 
tain's side,  with  black  overhanging  crags,  and  torrent 
foaming  far  below;  with  graceful  falls,  and  long, 
sloping,  foamy  rapids ;  with  curious  windings  where 


COLORADO   DAYS.  217 

the  hills  have  indentations ;  with  little  caverns  into 
which  we  can  drive  our  horses  and  let  them  drink  out 
of  the  mountain's  heart.  There  are  also  great  steep 
pitches  of  rugged  hill  running  out  in  little  plateaus, 
as  though  the  road  desired  resting  place,  that  it  might 

"breathe  before  entering  upon  another  climb. 

We  must  come  down  the  valley  to  the  village, 
cross  the  little  stream  before  we  enter  upon  the  deep 
defile  of  William's  Canon.  It  is  very  narrow,  hardly 
more  than  a  trail,  though  carriages  come  here  by  keep- 
ing cleverly  within  the  ruts.  The  cliffs  are  magnifi- 
cent; five  hundred  feet  upward  they  carry  their 
Titanic  sculpturings  in  solitary  peaks  and  pinnacles, 
superbly  colored,  moss-stained,  weather-marked.  Had 
fair  Manitou  no  other  thing  than  this,  it  would  still 
have  pre-eminence ;  but  this  is  only  one  of  many 
wonders,  and  even  here  there  are  stranger  things  than 
this  defile  of  rock.  There  on  the  face  of  the  cliff, 
hundreds  of  feet  above  the  road,  is  a  little  opening 
into  the  mountain.  A  narrow  path  leads  to  it,  and 
with  weariness  we  will  climb  to  this  "  Cave  of  the 
Winds."  Was  there  ever  such  wonder  as  this  perched 
so  high  towards  heaven  ?  One,  two,  many  hundred 
feet  we  go  into  the  cliff,  to  find  fantastic  halls  and 
banquet  chambers,  miniature  temples  with  Gothic 

•  arches  and  fair  Corinthian  pillars,  bridal  bowers  with 
couches  twined  with  acanthus  leaves,  grottoes  shaped 
as  the  hiding-place  of  nymphs,  and  such  rare  fashion- 


218  RAMBLES   OVERLAND. 

ings  of  stalactites  as  Nature  sometimes  makes  when 
she  has  centuries  of  solitude  and  darkness  in  which 
to  toil 

We  have  come  across  the  continent  to  climb  Pike's 
Peak,  and  here  the  old  mountain  stands  looking  in 
our  window  at  little  Manitou  all  through  the  night.  * 

We  rendezvous  in  a  central  place  at  seven  o'clock. 
A  single  guide  will  go  with  the  party,  which  numbers 
twelve  or  more.  We  have  selected  the  day  before 
the  largest  horse  the  stable  has ;  and  when  we  start, 
in  the  pleasant  gallop  to  the  Iron  Spring  at  which 
the  trail  begins,  we  find  that  we  have  made  good 
selection.  The  inevitable  ladies  follow  on ;  timid,  of 
course,  but  full  of  that  high  ambition  which  belongs 
to  those  who  have  never  climbed  twelve  miles  toward 
heaven  on  a  mountain's  side.  Before  the  first  mile  is 
finished  we  have  left  them  far  behind,  thinking  per- 
haps that  it  will  be  good  manners  to  go  on  ahead  and 
see  that  due  arrangements  are  made  for  their  recep- 
tion on  the  summit.  The  path  is  a  narrow  one,  but 
of  entrancing  beauty.  Through  groves  and  fields,  on 
mountain  sides,  above  great  precipices,  over  noisy 
streams,  beside  cataract  and  fall,  the  path  winds  on 
and  up.  Little  glades  and  glens  are  passed;  rare 
forest  vistas  open,  long  reaches  of  serpentine  paths 
through  tangled  grass,  fords  and  meadow  roads,  rocky 
trails  on  lower  summits,  along  the  flanks  of  foothills ; 
for  five  hours  our  brave,  strong  horses  bear  us  to  the 


COLORADO   DAYS.  219 

glory  that  is  on  the  peak.  Meantime  the  world 
below  seeks  to  keep  us  loyal  to  the  beauty  that  we 
have  left  Whenever  we  look  down  and  back,  new 
wonders  are  unfolded.  Manitou  is  lovelier  now  than 
ever;  the  Garden  of  the  Gods,  Colorado  Springs,  the 
far-extended  rolling  fields,  are  at  our  feet,  while 
all  around  us  are  the  mountains,  —  Alps  on  Alps,  — 
crowned  by  the  fair  summit  towards  which  we  climb 
through  all  the  hours. 

But  our  gallant  horse  has  an  ambitious  rival  at  his 
heels,  —  a  large  roan  beast,  who  has  more  than  once, 
we  know  by  his  impatience,  led  the  train  of  horses 
to  the  summit.  He  is  bearing  a  huge,  good-natured 
Irishman,  who  owns  a  forge  in  Cincinnati,  —  one 
Patrick  Buckley,  —  a  clever-witted  fellow,  who  has 
rare  love  of  nature,  and  has  travelled  much  about  the 
earth. 

Long  ago  have  we  left  the  slower  horses  behind, 
and  now  the  genial  Pat  and  the  writer  go  on  together. 
For  two  good  hours  at  least  we  are  regaled  with  such 
dissertation  as  Pat  can  give  on  "the  manly  art." 
Next  to  love  of  nature,  this  fellow  has  love  of  fighting. 
We  even  think  he  has  had  a  turn  or  two  within  the 
ring  himself;  at  any  rate,  he  has  the  record  of  every 
pugilist,  and  talks  of  Heenan,  Sullivan  "  the  Slugger  " 
(whoever  he  may  be),  "  Tug  Wilson,"  and  all  the  gal- 
lant crew  of  bruisers ;  giving  us  such  insight  into 
arts  of  fighting,  the  rules  and  regulations  of  the  ring, 


220  RAMBLES  OVERLAND. 

pools,  bets,  Marquis  of  Queensbury  rules,  and  spar- 
ring bouts,  as  we  have  never  had  before,  —  though 
Pat  can  hardly  understand  how  one  seemingly  so 
intelligent  should  have  lived  so  long  and  learned  so 
little.  Meantime  we  are  rising  to  the  summit ; 
among  the  rocks  violets  are  growing,  and  such  rare 
golden  flowers  as  we  have  seldom  seen  in  the  valleys 
that  are  farther  from  the  sun.  The  great  billowy 
mountains  of  the  West  are  below  us  now,  and  the 
entire  State  is  spread  like  a  map  beneath  us.  The 
air  is  growing  thin.  The  horses  breathe  with  labor ; 
there  are  bands  like  steel  tightening  around  our  heads, 
and  the  landscape  below  is  strangely  changing  in  our 
vision.  But  we  are  on  the  summit  now,  —  a  vast 
field  of  bowlders,  desolate,  weird,  majestic  in  its  vast 
altitude  above  the  world. 

How  far  can  the  vision  go  ?  We  know  not,  we 
care  not !  What  are  these  peaks  eastward,  north- 
ward ?  What  ranges  these,  what  valleys  those  ?  We 
will  not  ask,  we  will  not  be  told.  Why  should  we 
break  this  splendid  picture  into  fragments,  analyze- 
it  into  names,  dissect  glory  from  glory  ?  The  moun- 
tains will  not  lie  fairer  in  the  sun  because  we  know 
the  names  that  belittle  them,  nor  will  the  ranges  add 
one  hue  to  these  golden  lines  by  our  knowing  what 
camp  or  city  lies  beneath  them ;  the  scene  shall  be 
unbroken,  undesecrated,  —  an  eternal  picture  hung 
on  memory's  walls. 


COLORADO   DAYS.  221 

Fifteen  thousand  feet  we  are  standing  now  above 
the  level  of  the  sea.  It  is  not  wonderful  that  we 
can  breathe  only  with  effort ;  our  heads  are  bursting 
with  severest  pains,  our  lungs  heave  violently,  we 
stagger  as  we  walk,  and  only  by  utmost  strain  of 
will  can  we  rouse  ourselves  to  see  the  glory  we  have 
climbed  to  get 

It  is  a  four  hours'  journey  down  to  little  Manitou 
from  the  summit  But  our  pugilistic  Pat  dares  us  to 
follow  him,  if  we  can.  We  will  not  boast,  but  we 
will  try. 

And  so  we  go  down  in  the  wildest  race  we  ever 
made  before.  The  charm  of  mountain  travel  is  in  the 
descent,  but  it  must  be  a  flight  rather  than  a  march. 
The  muscles  must  be  relieved  from  tension,  the  hands 
free  to  catch  trees  and  twigs,  and  then  in  great  adven- 
turous strides  one  must  go  down  as  the  wind  goes. 
Every  sense  must  be  alert,  eye  must  not  falter,  mus- 
cles must  not  fail,  the  joints  must  be  loyal,  and  then 
with  a  springy,  spongy  path,  with  an  accomplished 
tramper  to  lead  or  follow,  what  is  there  on  earth  much 
better  than  a  flight  from  a  mountain's  summit  to  the 
plains  ?  But  never  before  have  we  made  such  flight 
on  a  horse's  back !  The  road  is  perilous  in  places  ; 
many  times  in  the  ascent  did  we  wonder  what  would 
become  of  us  if  our  horse  should  make  misstep,  for 
half  the  time  we  are  on  narrow  trails  above  precipice 
and  chasm,  on  frail  paths  built  up  of  timber,  rock, 


222  RAMBLES   OVERLAND. 

and  sand,  with  narrow  causeways  and  ways  so  peril- 
ous that,  on  the  upward  way,  climbing  with  slow, 
cautious  pace,  we  had  need  for  cool  eye  and  steady 
hand.  This  is  the  path  which  for  twelve  miles  we  are 
to  follow,  led  by  this  wild  Irish  wag.  We  accept  the 
challenge,  and  Pat  leads  on.  Shall  we  ever  forget  that 
ride  ?  Down  the  steeper  pitches  we  can  only  descend 
with  caution.  Miles  downward  from  the  summit  we 
must  wind  among  the  rocks  with  slow,  painful  effort ; 
but  when  once  in  the  forest,  with  mad,  wild  racings, 
we  come  down  like  the  wind.  Swaying  with  the  quick 
turnings  of  the  path,  half  staggering  often  with  sud- 
denly diverging  trail,  sliding  down  steep  descents  of 
ledge  and  earth,  galloping  over  level  spaces  and  de- 
scending paths  alike,  so  we  come  down  as  never  men 
came  before  that  day.  Somehow  there  is  intoxica- 
tion in  this  mountain  air.  How  otherwise  could  we 
come  with  laughter  and  mad,  swift  racings  over  these 
dizzy  paths,  where,  hours  ago,  we  walked  with  trem- 
bling ;  and  by  what  spirit  are  we  possessed  that  we 
dare  gallop  around  cliff  and  bowlder,  over  narrow 
bridge,  along  the  mountain's  side,  where  one  false 
step  will  impale  horse  and  rider  on  the  trees  two 
hundred  feet  below  ?  But  oh,  it  is  a  rare,  rich  ride ! 
Not  since  the  old  days  has  the  blood  run  so  swiftly 
in  us,  nor  since  boyhood  has  there  been  such  exultant 
life  as  now,  when,  with  every  faculty  alive,  set  firm 
in  stirrup,  with  every  nerve  of  this  stalwart  horse 


COLORADO   DAYS.  223 

quivering  responsive  to  our  touch,  we  come  down 
behind  this  wild  John  Gilpin,  who  would  outrun  us 
if  he  only  could. 

Men  wonder  as  we  pass  them  in  the  village,  and 
ask  if  we  have  really  made  the  journey  to  the  sum- 
mit ;  and  even  Pat  himself,  while  giving  honest  praise 
that  he  could  not  defeat  us,  is  surprised  to  find  that 
in  two  hours  and  seventeen  minutes  we  have  made 
the  twelve-mile  journey,  saying  nothing  of  the  stop 
—  we  will  not  say  how  long  —  outside  the  town,  to 
let  the  horses  make  themselves  presentable. 

Seventy-five  miles  northward  now  to  Denver,  the 
marvel  city  of  the  West.  We  cannot  believe  that 
only  a  few  years  ago  it  was  a  desert  here,  for  there 
are  few  cities  so  fair  as  this.  Wise  men  have  laid 
out  this  city  here :  streets  of  generous  width,  public 
buildings  of  imposing  size,  private  homes  of  elegance ; 
while  from  every  part  of  the  great  place  loom  up  the 
superb  mountain  range  running  one  hundred  miles 
or  more,  with  its  matchless  crest  of  snow. 

We  cannot  explore  all  the  wonders  of  this  great 
State,  for  already  the  invisible  ties  that  run  out  from 
heart  to  heart  begin  to  draw  us  back  to  the  old  home. 
We  will  do  the  next  best  thing,  and  come  up  here 
in  Jackson's  Gallery,  and  let  him  show  us,  in  the  per- 
fect pictures  that  this  wizard  of  the  camera  has  made, 
the  glories  of  the  West.  So  the  panorama  passes  be- 
fore our  vision,  —  gorges,  peaks,  mountains,  parks, 


224  RAMBLES   OVERLAND. 

everything  that  Nature  has,  every  wonder,  every 
glory,  from  sea  to  sea,  caught  on  the  lenses  of  this 
artist's  camera,  aiid  made  by  his  patient  skill  into 
such  rare  pictures  as  nowhere  in  the  East  have  we 
ever  seen. 

Going  southward  now,  we  will  make  the  journey 
by  night  to  the  Gunnison  country,  far  west,  coming 
back  by  day  and  noting  the  marvels  that  lie  along 
the  way.  The  city  of  Gunnison  is  new,  brusque, 
brisk,  large  with  expectations.  Eich  mines  are  in 
the  mountains ;  and  unless  the  natives  lie,  —  and  it 
is  possible  they  do,  —  this  is  to  be  the  richest  region 
in  the  State. 

Leaving  the  city,  coming  East,  the  train  bears  us 
straight  toward  the  heart  of  the  hills.  The  Eocky 
Mountains  are  directly  in  our  path,  and  we  are  to 
cross  their  suinm.it  and  run  with  the  rivers  to  the 
sea.  One,  two,  three  engines  are  put  on,  —  stumpy, 
determined,  unsocial  things,  with  no  jewelry  of 
brass  or  tinsel,  but  small- wheeled  fellows,  that  will 
hug  the  old  mountain  with  tenacious  grip,  and  crawl 
over  it  despite  its  ruggedness.  It  is  a  steep  task, 
however,  this  mountain  climb  of  five  thousand  feet. 
When,  in  twenty  years,  we  shall  come  this  way 
again  with  the  wings  which  every  traveller  will  cany 
then,  we  shall  make  this  summit  in  just  eight  miles ; 
but  now  we  will  zigzag  up  for  thirty  miles.  The 
road  winds  not  much  as  yet,  but  more  and  more, 


COLORADO   DAYS.  225 

following  the  indentations  of  every  valley,  skirting 
precipices,  balancing  on  the  side  of  deep  defiles,  run- 
ning around  great  points  of  rock,  yet  clambering  in 
great  spirals  to  the  clouds.  The  tandem-harnessed 
horses  ahead  are  pulling  valiantly,  but  they  do  not 
hurry  much.  The  air  is  getting  thin,  perhaps,  for 
they  are  breathing  hard,  as  we  panted  when,  a  month 
or  more  ago,  we  climbed  Mount  Washburn  with  our 
packs.  The  snow-sheds  begin  to  multiply,  great 
ranges  come  in  view,  behind  us  the  road  winds  like 
a  ribbon  below  among  the  trees,  and  beyond  it  goes 
on  and  on  in  curious  loops  and  windings,  breaking 
the  summit  into  terraces.  Suddenly  we  stop  in  the 
darkness  of  a  vast  shed.  There  is  ominous  sense  of 
danger.  The  air  is  thick  with  smoke  ;  men  go  out, 
loiter  upon  the  steps,  go  forward  but  return  not,  and 
wonder  changes  to  apprehension.  Soon  we  learn  that, 
with  such  rude  tenderness  as  men  can  use,  a  crushed 
and  mangled  workman  has  been  put  upon  the  train, 
injured  in  the  tunnel  just  where  we  stopped  in  the 
darkness.  He  was  a  laborer  upon  a  construction  train 
moving  on  the  siding.  A  projecting  timber  crushed 
his  limbs,  and  left  him  maimed  and  helpless. 

But  we  are  on  the  summit  now,  and  the  links  are 
parted.  There,  a  mile  below,  roll  on  the  little  en- 
gines, beckoning  us  to  overtake  them  if  we  can.  We 
are  on  the  Atlantic  Slope,  and  the  afternoon  light  is 
making  strange  shadows  in  the  valleys;  and  how 

15 


226  RAMBLES   OVERLAND. 

silently  the  great  peaks  lie  here  midway  between  the 
seas  below  the  pomp  of  moving  clouds  ! 

Into  the  Royal  Gorge  of  the  Arkansas  we  now 
come.  The  walls  rise  three  thousand  feet,  cut  into 
curious  forms,  fine  of  line,  delicate  of  color,  running 
up  in  places  with  almost  invisible  traceries,  and  near 
by  knotted  into  rough  masses  as  though  a  molten  sea 
had  stiffened  into  stone.  There  are  openings,  too, 
worn  smooth  with  the  melting  snows,  and  here  are 
little  tributaries  bringing  down  perpetual  streams. 
Rare-  surprises  of  cave  and  cleft  are  on  these  walls, 
strange  channels  leading  upward  to  the  clouds,  old 
weather  scars,  and  great  mosaics  of  colored  rock, 
with  little  fringes  of  fern  and  grass  wherever  on  shelf 
of  rock  there  is  lodgment  for  the  soil. 

Once  there  flashes  at  us  the  verdure  of  an  upward 
winding  valley,  soft  and  green,  as  sometimes  in  a 
nightmare's  desolations  there  will  be  a  glimpse  of 
beauty ;  and  then  the  crags  go  on,  the  shadows  deepen, 
and  in  great  walls,  so  high  that  vision  almost  fails, 
towers  the  mass  of  stone,  not  beautiful  nor  wonderful, 
but  simply  appalling  in  majestic  awfulness. 

So  we  come  back  again  to  Pueblo,  and  at  midnight, 
fast  asleep,  we  are  borne  eastward,  bearing  in  our 
dreams  pleasant  memories  of  our  Colorado  days. 


INCIDENTS  OF  TRAVEL. 


So  comes  a  reckoning  when  the  banquet 's  o'er, 
The  dreadful  reckoning  ;  and  men  smile  no  more. 

JOHN  GAY. 


CHAPTER  XIV. 

INCIDENTS   OF  TRAVEL. 

AROUND  trip  across  the  continent  in  these 
prosaic  days  is  not  prolific  in  adventures. 
The  wild  Indian,  in  harmless  fashion,  eats  his  ra- 
tions on  the  reservation,  and  Jesse  James  has  gone 
where  the  wicked  cease  from  troubling,  and  even 
the  stage  robber  is  at  rest.  The  only  personage  who 
can  interject  an  element  of  peril  into  a  continental 
trip  is  the  unromantic  cowboy,  and  there  is  no  abso- 
lute certainty  that  a  traveller  may  be  on  just  the  par- 
ticular train  which  he  "  goes  through." 

We  are  sorry  that  we  are  not  able  to  give  to  our 
readers  picturesque  descriptions  of  startling  perils 
and  heroic  instances  of  personal  courage,  but  in  most 
aggravating  security  we  make  our  journey,  and  return 
home  in  a  state  of  mortifying  safety.  But  we  are 
not  yet  home. 

Out  of  the  great  chasms,  leaving  behind  moun- 
tain, gorge,  and  mine,  we  come  eastward.  The  fair 
fields  of  Kansas  and  Missouri  pass  in  panorama  be- 
fore us ;  the  Mississippi  is  crossed,  and  here  we  are 


230  RAMBLES   OVERLAND. 

again  at  Chicago,  safe  and  sound.  Reclining  in  the 
easy-chairs  with  which  these  enterprising  Western 
roads  are  furnished,  we  have  time  to  look  around 
and  note  the  curious  life  that  may  be  seen  even  on  a 
railway  car.  The  porter,  who  responds  so  readily  to 
the  name  of  John,  that  we  think  he  must  have  been 
christened  by  it,  is  in  serious  trouble  all  the  way.  His 
special  function  in  the  world  is  to  keep  the  way  pas- 
sengers from  entering  the  car.  But  John's  power  of 
resistance  is  limited,  and  the  amount  of  personal  push 
and  self-assertion  developed  in  these  Kansas  females 
is  phenomenal.  The  sable  guardian  of  the  through 
passengers  is  in  a  state  of  chronic  altercation,  ex- 
postulating, remonstrating,  threatening,  and  coaxing, 
quoting  general  orders  and  specific  rules,  but  liable 
to  be  overcome  by  the  energetic  women,  who,  though 
they  are  riding  only  between  the  flag  stations,  wish 
to  go  in  as  great  comfort  as  the  railway  company  pro- 
vides for  any  of  its  patrons. 

A  little  Massachusetts  school-marm,  who  is  going 
down  the  road  not  more  than  forty  miles,  comes 
bouncing  in  with  a  perfect  avalanche  of  such  bun- 
dles as  the  average  woman  likes  to  carry.  John  ad- 
vances and  guards  the  passage,  but  by  sheer  audacity 
of  speech  she  overcomes  him,  and,  forcing  a  passage 
in,  takes  a  seat  behind  us,  enjoying  her  journey  with 
the  calmest  possible  serenity.  She  is  utterly  obliv- 
ious of  the  fact  that  she  is  a  voluble  little  fraud,  and 


INCIDENTS   OP  TRAVEL.  231 

that  the  blushing  gentleman  on  whose  chair  her  not 
over-dainty  feet  recline,  as  well  as  John,  who  scowls 
behind  her,  know  it. 

The  commercial-traveller  genus  abounds  in  these 
Western  States.  On  the  platform  of  stations  where 
not  a  house  nor  store  is  visible,  there  is  the  omni- 
present drummer;  at  lonely  water-tanks  he  screens 
his  head  from  the  noon-day  heat  .beneath  the  cis- 
tern, while  he  waits  for  the  train ;  at  flag  stations 
he  is  waving  flag  or  lantern ;  and  go  where  we  may, 
we  hear  his  hearty  laugh  and  see  his  good-natured 
face.  We  ourselves  are  even  taken  for  one  of  the 
fraternity,  and  in  entering  the  Colorado  City,  which 
bears  with  us  the  burden  of  a  not-over  comely  name, 
a  shabby  two-dollar  hotel  is  commended  to  us,  be- 
cause it  has  a  good  sample  room  and  a  first-class  bar. 
In  several  years  of  travel  we  have  never  seen  before 
this  day  one  of  these  self-reliant  fellows  seriously 
annoyed  at  the  ills  of  life.  But  now  a  new  experi- 
ence comes.  In  the  seat  just  ahead  is  an  ideal  speci- 
men of  the  fraternity.  He  is  arrayed  in  wonderful 
expanse  of  linen,  and  has  that  air  of  proprietorship 
which  belongs  to  the  average  over-fed  young  man. 
The  atmosphere  of  general  omniscience  about  the 
fellow  awes  us ;  we  sit  and  admire  the  soft  folds  of 
his  pulpy  neck,  really  envying  his  rare  capacity  for 
looking  wise.  The  conductor  reaches  him  in  the 
progress  of  his  rounds,  and  is  handed  the  ticket  by 


232  RAMBLES   OVERLAND. 

the  young  man  with  effusive  condescension.  The 
official  calmly  says,  "  You  are  on  the  wrong  train." 

Language  fails  to  describe  the  "  breaking  up "  of 
that  drummer ;  the  revelation  that  he  is  not  omnisci- 
ent, the  utter  collapse  of  dignity,  the  coming  down  to 
the  ordinary  level  of  a  common,  erring,  human  nature, 
the  descent  from  the  high  stilts  of  his  self-conceit  of 
that  fat  young  man,  was  such  a  sight  as  was  worth 
a  trip  across  the  continent  to  see. 

We  are  soon  to  pass  a  train  returning  to  Kansas 
City,  and  the  young  man  can  transfer  himself  to  that 
and  go  back  his  twenty  miles.  Like  the  old  philoso- 
pher, whatever  concerns  the  race  is  of  interest  to  us, 
and  so  we  go  to  the  back  stairs  of  the  train  to  see 
him  make  the  connection.  The  trains  approach,  pass, 
but  neither  stops.  When  twenty  rods  apart  they 
halt,  and  the  fellow  launches  himself,  with  his  sam- 
ples. The  mercury  is  warming  to  its  work  among 
the  nineties,  and  it  is  not  easy  for  a  fat  man,  with 
half  a  dozen  conscienceless  passengers  watching,  and 
a  box  of  samples  in  his  hand,  to  make  fast  time  upon 
the  ties  of  a  railway  track.  We  encourage  him  with 
mirthful  words,  make  suggestions  as  to  styles  of 
locomotion ;  but,  despite  this  help,  he  fails,  for  when 
within  arm's  length  of  the  train  the  white  rings 
rise  above  the  engine  and  the  cars  move  off;  and 
alone  upon  the  track,  with  samples  dropped  and 
pulpy  fists  shaking  east  and  west  at  the  retreating 


INCIDENTS   OF  TRAVEL  233 

trains,  we  leave  him  with  his  meditations  and  his 
samples. 

The  traveller  across  the  continent  still  meets  with 
many  curious  types  of  life,  although  the  facilities  of 
travel  are  fast  destroying  individual  characteristics  of 
costume,  speech,  and  manners.  Even  iu  the  Terri- 
tories, frontier  life  shows  the  effect  of  contact  with 
t 

the  refinements  of  the  world.  There  are  innumerable 
comedies,  however,  on  a  railway  train. 

One  of  our  companions  finds  in  the  emigrant  car  a 
dejected  man,  who  so  arouses  his  sympathy  that  he 
makes  a  canvass  of  the  passengers  for  help.  Every 
eye  is  busy  with  the  scenery  along  the  road,  and, 
rather  than  see  his  mission  absolutely  fail,  the  sym- 
pathetic solicitor  from  his  own  pocket  makes  gener- 
ous contribution  to  the  sufferer.  But  the  turning  of 
the  contents  of  the  hat  into  the  man's  lap  works  a 
transformation;  he  is  now  gayest  of  the  gay,  cele- 
brating his  good  fortune  with  potations  from  some 
bottle  drawn  from  unseen  hiding-place,  singing  sense- 
less songs,  and  so  overwhelming  with  gratitude  the 
mortified  victim  of  his  cunning  arts,  that  our  friend 
would  have  surely  killed  the  fellow  if  he  only  dared. 

On  the  Northern  Pacific  a  juvenile  tramp  comes  on 
the  train.  The  conductor  warns  him  to  leave  at  the 
next  station,  threatening  all  sorts  of  mutilation  if  he 
should  be  found  on  board  after  the  nearest  depot  is 
passed.  No  sooner  does  the  official  leave  the  car, 


234  RAMBLES   OVERLAND. 

however,  than  the  stalwart  brakeman  takes  the  boy, 
and  in  the  most  miscellaneous  fashion  possible  throws 
him  into  the  huge  wood-box  in  the  corner.  There  all 
day  the  fellow  rides,  lifting  the  cover  from  time  to 
time  and  looking  at  the  passengers  without  one  hint 
of  humor  on  his  dirty  face,  although  we  confidently 
believed  that  never  did  the  little  vagrant  feast  so 
royally  as  on  that  eventful  day. 

On  the  Pacific  steamer  we  are  just  an  hour  too  late 
to  secure  a  state-room,  and  so  are  placed  in  a  kind  of 
pantry  on  the  second  floor  down,  just  above  the  screw. 
As  we  entered  our  sarcophagus,  just  before  the  hour 
of  sailing,  we  found  in  the  upper  berth  the  shaggiest- 
looking  specimen  we  had  ever  seen.  His  head  was 
bald  upon  the  top,  but  grown  over  in  the  rear  with 
utmost  profusion  of  hair.  Snarled  and  tangled  curls 
and  ringlets,  —  matted,  braided,  mixed  together  in 
such  hairy  jungle  as  we  had  never  seen  upon  a  human 
head !  Where  the  hair  left  off  the  beard  commenced, 
— a  kind  of  terra-cotta  shade,  much  faded  by  the  sun. 
He  was  a  kind  of  polychromatic  man ;  for  his  clothes 
were  sea-green,  with  an  outside  ulster  in  a  poor  com- 
bination of  black  and  tan. 

We  supposed,  as  we  saw  him  lying  there  upon  the 
upper  shelf,  that  he  was  some  old  mummy,  in  transit 
to  a  San  Francisco  museum ;  for  he  looked  for  all  the 
world  like  one  of  those  not  over-handsome  relics  of 
the  past. 


INCIDENTS  OP  TRAVEL.  235 

When  in  the  early  morning  he  began  to  unwind 
himself,  preliminary  to  getting  down  and  out,  we  had 
an  apprehension  that  the  last  day  had  come,  and  that 
sea  and  land  were  giving  up  their  dead ;  for  we  were 
feeling  a  little  sea-sick,  and  did  n't  care  whether  the 
universe  wound  up  or  not.  As,  from  beneath  our 
blankets,  we  saw  our  room-mate  make  his  hasty  toilet, 
the  thought  passed  through  our  mind  that  when  this 
mummy  was  alive  he  was,  unless  his  looks  deceived,  a 
first-class  bandit ;  and  when  he  asked  us  for  our 
comb,  we  presented  it  as  we  should  all  the  assets  that 
we  had,  if  only  his  demand  had  specified  those  things. 
We  tried  to  ask  forgiveness  for  such  sins  as  we  could 
remember,  with  the  headache  that  we  had,  and  won- 
dered by  what  process  he  would  kill  us  when  he 
should  have  pulled  out  the  few  remaining  teeth  of 
our  relic  of  a  comb.  However,  one  cannot  always 
tell  by  appearances  what  men  are,  in  the  Great  West. 
The  framework  of  our  comb  came  back  to  us.  The 
steward  was  even  sought  by  him  and  sent  to  us ;  and 
before  the  voyage  was  over  we  found  this  man  the 
most  companionable  of  fellows, — genial,  witty,  wise  ; 
a  graduate  of  the  Edinburgh  College  of  Surgeons,  and 
now  a  physician  practising  in  some  region,  to  us  un- 
known, between  Puget  Sound  and  the  North  Pole. 

The  cowboys  are  often  with  us,  —  a  trifle  loud  in 
manner,  with  a  little  flavor  of  brag  and  bluster,  armed 
like  travelling  arsenals,  but  withal  harmless,  —  not 


236  RAMBLES   OVERLAND. 

even  terrifying,  except  to  the  women  who  have  come 
from  the  Atlantic  coast. 

The  peanut  fiend,  like  the  drum-beat  of  England, 
goes  round  the  world.  We  had  hoped  that  we  should 
get  beyond  the  bounds  of  his  jurisdiction ;  but  he  is 
ubiquitous,  —  the  same  irrepressible,  inopportune, 
voluble  specimen  of  importunity  in  the  Territories 
as  in  the  old  centres.  In  Arizona  we  found  him 
selling,  as  native  products  of  the  soil,  the  same  shell 
porte-monnaies  that  had  been  tendered  us  in  every 
State  along  the  way.  Corn  as  hard  as  Montana  agates 
was  offered  us  as  "  fresh  popped."  Novels  ill  green 
and  gold,  of  the  Mrs.  Southworth  order,  were  shed 
upon  just  and  unjust  alike;  and  "Peck's  Bad  Boy" 
followed  us  from  sea  to  sea. 

We  think  it  must  have  been  through  observation 
of  the  newsboys  on  the  trip  across  the  continent  that 
Joseph  Cook  discovered  his  theory  of  the  "persist- 
ence of  evil ; "  for  these  pests  are  simply  incorrigible, 
and  if  one  in  desperation  throws  them  from  the  train, 
at  the  next  station  there  will  be  a  new  relay  come 
to  take  up  the  vacant  basket  and  carry  on  the  work 
of  worrying  the  martyrs. 

There  are  all  sorts  of  travellers,  —  good  natured,  ill 
natured,  inquisitive,  and  reticent ;  people  who  make 
the  best  of  everything,  and  those  who  take  the  most 
of  everything.  An  old  Scotchwoman  rode  beside  us 
through  three  hundred  miles  of  the  finest  scenery  on 


INCIDENTS   OF  TRAVEL.  237 

the  continent,  and  never  raised  her  eyes  from  the 
knitting-needles  that  she  held.  She  had  travelled 
through  Europe  and  Australia  in  the  same  fashion, 
and  though  she  had  seen  but  little,  she  had  filled  her 
trunk  half  full  of  the  stockings  she  had  made. 

Every  tourist  across  the  continent  is  certain  to  con- 
tract the  time-table  fever  somewhere  on  the  trip.  It 
is  a  species  of  mania,  and  usually  lasts  about  three  or 
four  days,  though  we  saw  several  cases  where  it  had 
become  chronic.  It  usually  commences  in  a  study  of 
the  guide-book,  and  is  attended  in  its  milder  forms 
with  getting  off  at  the  various  stations,  questionings  of 
brakemen  and  conductors,  with  interviews  with  local 
travellers,  which  become  more  persistent  as  the  fever 
increases  in  intensity.  Then  the  "  map-stage  "  of  the 
disease  comes  on ;  distance  tables  are  studied,  and 
folders  of  connecting  roads,  the  patient  trying  to 
harmonize  the  figures  on  the  time-table  with  the 
actual  running  time.  There  is  a  kind  of  fascination 
in  the  task  that  lures  one  on.  Flans  are  made  for 
days  and  weeks  ahead,  and  once  the  mania  comes  on, 
there  is  no  effectual  resistance  until  the  victim  is 
exhausted,  or  the  tables  thrown  away  by  solicitous 
friends.  We  saw  a  lamentable  case  of  the  disease  in 
New  Mexico.  At  Santa  Fd  an  unsuspicious  man 
came  on  the  train ;  a  departing  passenger  carelessly 
left  a  time-table  upon  the  seat,  and  the  gentleman,  all 
unconscious  of  the  peril  of  the  act,  took  it  up  and 


238  RAMBLES  OVERLAND. 

began  to  study  out  its  ingenious  puzzles.  Gradually 
the  subtle  fascinations  of  the  folder  began  to  weave 
themselves  over  him ;  the  noon-day  meal  was  hastily 
swallowed  that  he  might  resume  his  work ;  day  deep- 
ened into  night,  and  still  he  puzzled,  ciphered,  and 
tried  to  solve  the  riddle  of  the  modern  Sphinx.  We 
sank  to  sleep;  the  poor  time-table  victim,  studying 
still,  was  the  last  object  on  which  our  vision  rested ; 
and  when  roused  at  midnight,  at  a  junction  of  the 
roads,  by  the  exodus  of  a  portion  of  the  passengers, 
we  saw  on  an  omnibus  top  the  pitiable  sight  of  the 
poor  victim  still  studying,  in  such  light  as  the  moon 
could  give,  the  unsolved  and  unsolvable  riddle. 

We  had  never  but  once  before  this  trip  rode' 
through  a  night  without  taking  a  sleeping  car.  Com- 
ing across  the  Arizona  desert,  however,  we  venture  the 
experiment.  It  is  not  a  success.  Such  turnings  and 
twistings,  such  repeated  attempts  to  make  a  five-foot- 
eight  man  straighten  out  on  a  five-foot  seat,  such 
complete  ignominious  failures,  we  had  never  experi- 
enced before  in  all  the  misadventures  of  a  checkered 
life.  We  never  had  much  talent  in  figures.  If  we 
were  summoned  in  college,  at  times,  before  the  faculty, 
it  was  not  to  receive  the  annual  prizes  in  mathema- 
tics ;  but  we  learn  on  that  moonlight  night  upon  the 
desert  more  of  the  disciplinary  science  than  we  had 
ever  dreamed  of  in  our  undergraduate  days.  We 
learned  that  man  is  not,  geometrically  considered,  a 


INCIDENTS   OF  TRAVEL.  239 

right-angled,  triangled  kind  of  a  figure ;  that  he  can- 
not successfully  be  the  base  and  perpendicular  of  a 
triangle  at  the  same  time ;  though  we  gave,  in  the  con- 
tortions of  our  body,  a  most  perfect  object-lesson  of 
the  spiral  of  Archimedes.  We  took  up  the  cushions 
and  half  rebuilt  the  car ;  we  constructed  "  L's,"  wings, 
and  additions,  with  carpet  bags  and  blankets ;  we 
tried  high  pillow  made  of  overcoat  and  low  pillow 
made  of  duster ;  but  we  worked  out  the  problem  to  a 
demonstration,  that  a  full-sized  man  cannot  sleep  in 
the  seat  of  a  railway  car  without  building  either  the 
car  or  the  man  on  a  different  model. 

We  are  persuaded  by  the  experiences  of  the  sum- 
mer's trip  that  the  most  pestilent  nuisance  to-day  in 
the  world  of  travellers  is  the  man  who  snores.  Pleas- 
ant men,  men  apparently  kind-hearted,  Christians  by 
day,  with  the  coming  on  of  darkness  are  transformed 
into  fiends.  We  had  heard  snorers  in  the  East  with- 
out great  discomfort,  although  we  have  some  peculiar 
theories  of  what  we  would  do  with  the  mildest  of 
them,  if  only  we  had  autocratic  power.  But  there  is 
a  malignancy  in  the  snoring  of  these  Western  fellows 
that  "  murders  sleep  ; "  it  is  a  kind  of  interjectional 
snoring,  that  rasps  the  nerves  and  makes  one  wild. 
For  a  time  there  is  a  sort  of  guttural  cadence ;  the 
sound  grows  fainter  and  fainter,  and  you  think  that 
the  end  is  near ;  then  the  music  stops,  a  faint  gasp 
follows,  and  the  hope  that  springs  eternal  in  the  hu- 


240  RAMBLES   OVERLAND. 

man  breast  says,  "  Thank  heaven,  he  is  dead  at  last ! " 
But  no,  with  a  series  of  convulsions,  sobs,  gasps,  and 
groans,  the  monster  comes  back  to  life,  to  play  over, 
with  endless  variations,  the  same  tragedy,  until  the 
heart  is  sick  with  hope  of  death  deferred.  We  kicked 
the  elbow  of  a  man  half  across  the  State  of  Missouri, 
quite  as  much  out  of  kindness  to  fellow-passengers 
as  for  personal  revenge ;  but  it  only  served  to  change 
the  snorer's  tune,  to  pull  out  extra  stops  in  this  hu- 
man organ,  and  bring  down  upon  ourselves  fresh 
varieties  of  inharmonious  sound.  It  is  said  there  is 
no  way  to  cure  these  fellows  except  by  death.  We 
have  spent  many  wakeful  hours  during  our  summer's 
trip  in  speculations  as  to  whether,  if  one  should  kill  a 
snorer,  it  would  be  accounted  murder.  We  would  be 
willing  to  risk  the  verdict,  if  only  we  could  have  a 
hand  in  making  up  the  jury. 

We  saw  the  neatest  punishment  administered  to  an 
obtrusive  drummer  that  ever  before  came  beneath  our 
notice.  A  pair  of  young  and  prepossessing  ladies 
came  upon  the  cars  at  midnight  at  a  station  in  New 
Mexico.  We  were  to  change  in  the  early  morning, 
and  were  riding  in  the  ordinary  car.  The  drummer 
sat  behind  the  fair  young  ladies,  and  was  more  than 
kind  in  his  attentions.  They  did  not  seem  to  like  it, 
but  hardly  knew  how  to  be  free  from  him.  One  of 
the  ladies  was  a  mother,  and  had  in  her  arms  her  in- 
fant child. 


INCIDENTS   OF  TRAVEL.  241 

The  young  man  had  evidently  been  somewhat  about 
the  world,  aud  knew  that  the  easiest  way  into  tho 
mother's  heart  was  through  the  baby ;  and  so  he 
played  and  toyed  with  it,  snapped  his  fingers,  wound 
and  unwound  his  stem-winder,  and  engaged  in  the 
various  devices  that  gain  the  sympathies  of  a  con- 
fiding infant.  In  a  moment  of  forgetfulness  he  asked 
to  take  the  child,  when  the  mother  passed  it  over ; 
and  the  great  fellow,  in  such  awkward  fashion  as 
men  have,  dandled  and  fondled  it.  It  was  very  pretty 
and  very  nice  for  a  time ;  but  a  very  little  of  a  baby 
goes  a  long  way  with  an  ordinary  man,  and  it  was 
evident  that  after  a  few  moments  the  infant  began,  to 
be  a  drug  upon  the  drummer's  hands. 

Meantime,  the  mother  and  her  sister,  in  the  seat 
beyond,  have  fallen  fust  asleep,  and  the  obtrusive 
young  man  is  left  alone  with  a  lively  baby  on  his 
hands  to  care  for  as  he  can.  It  was  a  lonesome  and 
a  long  night  for  the  drummer,  for  the  passengers  were 
profuse  in  sympathy;  and  whenever  the  baby  showed 
signs  of  sleep,  some  officious  neighbor  would  slip 
over  and  wind  the  child  up  for  another  half-hour  of 
wakefulness.  At  length  the  situation  became  so  se- 
vere that  the  drummer  gathered  boxes  and  bundles, 
and,  miles  away  from  his  destined  stopping-place, 
left  the  train,  throwing  the  baby  in  the  mother's  lap. 
The  woman  woke,  took  the  child,  but  as  she  looked 
at  the  drummer's  seat,  we  judged  by  the  twinkle  in 

10 


242  RAMBLES   OVERLAND. 

her  eye  that  this  was  not  her  first  journey  away  from 
home,  and  that  she  carried  the  baby,  perhaps,  as  a 
weapon  with  which  to  guard  the  fair  sister  who  sat 
beside  her. 

There  are  touching  incidents,  too,  along  the  way. 
More  than  once  mourners  come  on  board  and  ride 
beside  us,  while  the  precious  dead  are  carried,  to  the 
burial-place,  in  the  car  beyond.  The  conductor  who 
was  on  the  train  last  night  going  up  the  branch  is 
with  us  now  as  we  come  back ;  but  another  performs 
his  duty,  for  he  is  eastward-bound  to  see  once  more, 
if  possible,  the  dying  father  to  whose  bedside  he  was 
summoned  in  the  night. 

For  half  a  day  we  ride  beside  an  anxious  wife, 
hastening  to  join  her  husband,  who  was  shot  yester- 
day in  a  quarrel  up  the  line ;  and  in  the  speech  with 
which  sorrow  finds  relief  we  see,  in  the  long  journey 
of  the  summer,  that  no  spot  upon  the  earth  gives 
immunity  from  human  suffering. 

Now  that  we  are  getting  homeward,  we  may  give 
some  practical  hints  about  a  trip  across  the  con- 
tinent. 

Save  for  the  associations  of  Europe, — which  mean 
much  to  cultivated  people,  and  little  to  others,  —  a 
trip  to  San  Francisco  and  return  gives  as  great  enjoy- 
ment as  a  tour  to  the  Old  World.  In  natural  scenery, 
Europe  has  nothing  to  be  compared  to  the  Yellow- 
stone Park  and  the  Yosemite.  Southern  California 


INCIDENTS   OF  TRAVEL.  243 

is  fairer  than  Italy  in  climate,  and  its  peer  in  vegeta- 
tion; Mexico  ctm  be  visited  with  slight  expense  of 
time  and  money,  and  Colorado  is  a  museum  of  won- 
ders. As  regards  expense,  one  can  make  the  round 
trip  across  the  continent  at  about  the  expense  of  a 
visit  to  Home.  For  seven  or  eight  hundred  dollars 
one  can  go  with  great  comfort ;  and  a  less  amount 
will  suffice  if  one  will  exercise  reasonable  prudence. 
The  hotels  might  be  worse;  the  roads  are  admirably 
equipped  and  well  managed.  We  consider  the  ideal 
route  is  the  one  which  we  have  described  in  this 
book,  —  out  by  the  way  of  the  Northern  Pacific,  re- 
turning by  the  Southern  Pacific.  From  Colorado 
one  needs  to  go  west  through  the  Grand  Canon  of 
the  Arkansas  and  over  the  Marshall  Pass;  and  a  slight 
continuance  of  the  journey  takes  one  to  the  preten- 
tious humbug  of  Salt  Lake  City,  which  is  about  all 
there  is  on  the  Central  line  to  the  Pacific.  During 
the  past  summer  the  long  stage-ride  over  the  Rocky 
Mountains,  and  the  non-completion -of  the  railroad  to 
the  Yellowstone  Park,  would  have  made  this  trip 
difficult  for  any  except  those  of  robust  strengtli ; 
but  now  the  roads  are  completed,  and  by  another 
summer  all  conveniences  of  travel  will  be  estab- 
lished. 

* 

The  weather  is  perfect  in  the  summer  months,  and 
during  our  entire  journey  neither  gossamer  nor  um- 
brella were  used.  Ordinary  clothing  will  suffice  ;  and 


244  RAMBLES   OVERLAND. 

a  small  hand-satchel  will  contain  all  necessary  con- 
veniences. 

Expense  of  travel  is  somewhat  higher  than  in  the 
East;  but  with  increase  of  patronage  and  competi- 
tion this  will  be  greatly  lessened.  Travelling  is  as 
safe  as  in  any>»part  of  the  country  for  one  who  has 
ordinary  common  sense,  and  is  the  fortunate  owner 
of  a  civil  tongue ;  while  inevitable  discomforts  may 
be  reduced  to  the  minimum  by  a  wise  disposition  to 
make  the  best  of  everything  and  have  a  good  time. 

Eastward  now,  we  are  on  the  home  stretch.  Chi- 
cago is  behind  us,  and  through  the  fair  Canadian 
fields  we  will  hasten  as  fast  as  wheels  can  carry  us. 
Now  we  halt  beside  the  fair  St.  Lawrence,  where  the 
Thousand  Islands  float  upon  the  currents  of  this,  the 
queenliest  river  that  flows  -in  either  continent  to 
the  sea.  Danube,  Ehiue,  and  Hudson  deserve  the 
praises  sung  of  them ;  but  none  of  these  so  worthily 
might  receive  the  tribute  of  the  poet's  song  as  this 
grand  stream  bearing  onward  its  mighty  burden. 

Not  yet  has  the  poet's  pen  told  the  wondrous  grace 
of  these  fair  islands  here,  the  little  lake  set  in  an 
island's  heart,  the  balmy  days  when  summer's  heat 
is  tempered  by  the  flowing  stream,  the  matchless 
nights,  when  the  moon  works  its  transformation 
scenes. 

The  way  homeward  now  is  short ;  the  grain  ripens 
in  the  Mohawk's  valley,  and  along  the  Hudson's  bank 


INCIDENTS   OF  TRAVEL.  245 

the  foliage  catches  the  color  of  the  autumn  days. 
From  the  metropolis  of  the  Pacific  we  have  come  to 
the  larger  city  on  the  Atlantic's  waters,  and  our  sum- 
mer's flight  from  the  Brooklyn  Bridge  to  the  Golden 
Gate  and  back  is  over,  and  we  are  home  again. 


CnlTerrity  Prea  :  John  Wllaon  and  Son,  Ctmbriflft 


17741 


